


One more time

by MiraclesAndObstacles



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Bodyswap, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 19:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8297314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiraclesAndObstacles/pseuds/MiraclesAndObstacles
Summary: A Sergio and Iker bodyswap fanfic no one asked for.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there!  
> This is my first fan fiction, so please don't be to harsh on me. I'd still appreciate constructive criticism.  
> Thank you for reading.
> 
> By the way, this story was inspired by the Ziam body swap AU 'wrong side of love' by scottmcniceass.

The best way to sum the whole thing up, Sergio thinks, is what Cristiano said after the Champions League Finale. He'd muttered it not long after Iker had come out of the shower, towel wrapped around his waist, water droplets tripping down over his abs. It had been a little surprising, honestly. Like, they all knew what Iker looked like naked, they had showered with him before. It had never been sexual though. They were teammates, they changed in the same cabin and used the same shower, so obviously they had seen each other naked before. But this time was different.

He wasn't half bad, was the thing. Maybe not, like, Victoria's Secret model hot, but Sergio would be lying if he said he hadn't given Iker a very considering once over.

"I don't know how to feel," Marcelo had said, head cocked to the side, looking genuinely befuddled.

And Cristiano had scoffed, rolled his eyes, and said, "Oh come on. You're all acting like this is the first time Iker's made you question your sexuality. It's Iker. That's, like, his entire purpose, you know, apart from keeping the ball out of his net and making us Champions League winners."

And it was true - for Sergio at least.

The thing is, Sergio is straight. Ninety-nine percent straight. He likes women. He likes soft skin and round breasts and curves. He likes flowing hair and feminine giggles and sweet perfume. His crush on Messi is an exception but he's not even sure if it is a crush. Maybe Sergio's just comfortable enough with himself to be able to appreciate attractive, talented men.

And then there's Iker, but well, that's a whole different story. That's not a celebrity crush. That's not a slight infatuation with someone he's barely met, who he's mostly only admired (and idolized) from afar and played against. It's completely different, and it's completely horrible.

It started when they met while playing for Real Madrid Castilla. Sergio had been extremely out of his element at the beginning, and Iker had been so different from his other friends and teammates. Sure, he could goof off like the best of them, cause a scene, get rowdy and annoying. But there was another side to Iker as well. A calm, soft spoken side, that had sucked Sergio in. Iker had always been Sergio's favourite.

But then Iker grew up. It's really unfair really, that Sergio had to witness the whole thing up close. Had to watch Iker go from a soft, round cheeked boy into a man. And that's when things started to get complicated, when Iker became more muscular, started growing out his facial hair.

Iker Casillas is bloody gorgeous, and anyone can see that. It's just a fact. Common knowledge. So it really shouldn't affect Sergio, it shouldn't. Because, like, they're all attractive in their own right. Marcelo's got the curls; Cristiano has that playful, mischievous ruggedness and a million dollar smile; Gareth has the frat boy thing going for him. But Sergio didn't feel any sort of attraction towards them; just Iker, unfortunately.

Maybe it's more than attraction, though. Maybe it's more than wanting to know how that stubble would feel between his thighs; maybe it's more than wanting to kiss those lips of Iker's until they're red and swollen. Maybe, Sergio can admit, he's in love with Iker.

Actually, that's probably a fact, too. Iker is attractive: fact. Sergio is in love with him: fact. Being in love with your best friend/teammate is a bad idea: also fact.

Whatever. Sergio's come to terms with it. Sergio can handle it. He's been handling it. It's something he's pushed to the back of his mind, convinced himself isn't a big deal. And Iker's got Sara, and Sergio can honestly deal with it.

Or he thought he could. He thought he could handle it. He was handling it. He was handling it fucking brilliantly, actually, until Sara showed up to the Finale with that thing on her finger.

Engagement ring.

The words echoes in his mind as people talk all around him. Sergio doesn't hear them anymore. Doesn't hear Gareth asking him what's wrong, or the cheering and shouting from the crowd who is celebrating their win, or any of the people closest to him. There's this whooshing sound in Sergio's ears as he focuses on her, so far away in the crowd yet somehow completely distinguishable.

Iker's mum is with them, but Sergio barely notices that. In fact, he barely notices Iker, either. All he notices is the ring on Sara's finger. Iker leans in to kiss her, and even that doesn't register in Sergio's mind, really. It's only the ring, reflecting light, somehow so noticeable even though it shouldn't be.

It's on her wedding finger. There's no doubt about what it is. They can't afford to do something like that without meaning it, not when the two of them are completely aware of what Sara wearing a ring on that finger symbolizes, what everyone would assume it means. Which means it has to actually mean that.

Engaged. He asked her to marry him. He — he fucking did it. And Iker hadn't thought to, oh, he doesn't know, maybe mention it to one of them?

"Can you believe this?" Cristiano' voice cuts through the fog in Sergio's mind. "This is incredible!"

"Yeah," Sergio mumbles, eyes still on the three of them in the distance. "Incredible."

Cristiano must follow Sergio's line of sight, because the next thing Sergio knows, Cristiano is turning him, pinching his side a little roughly. Sergio lets out a yelp of surprise and Cristiano hugs him, whispering so no one else will be able to pick up on it, "Nothing's set in stone, babe. Just ignore it."

Sergio pushes him back. "Ignore what?" he asks, plastering a bright, fake smile on his face.

"That's it," Cristiano says, patting his shoulder. "Just enjoy this. Forget about it."

And Sergio does. He pushes all thoughts of it from his mind and instead lets himself get caught up in what really is an incredible experience.

*

Ignoring it gets really freaking hard when it's all anyone can talk about. And Sergio's not bitter, he's not. He's happy for Iker. So, so happy for him, he really is. He's just irritated (not jealous) that Iker hadn't mentioned it beforehand. Not that Iker owes them anything, it's not like he has to ask the rest of the team before he's allowed to get married or something, but a little warning would have been nice, since it does affect all of them. A bit. Or maybe it doesn’t and Sergio’s just mad that he didn’t know it beforehand.

The first time, it kind of blindsides Sergio. It's been discussed, obviously. Iker's mentioned it, quietly mumbling that, yeah, he did kind of sort of maybe ask Sara to marry him. But when the press brings it up, Sergio doesn't have time to prepare his reaction.

His smile slips from his face as one slides onto Iker's. There are congratulations, for their win and the engagement, a bit of talk. Sergio honestly has to force himself not to roll his eyes, but he's not entirely sure if he manages to stop himself. But everyone's making such a big deal of it, which is just annoying. Iker gets skipped over a lot in interviews. Sure they mention his skills, but normally that’s about it. But now Iker's getting married and suddenly that's good enough to put the spotlight on him?

It's bullshit, the whole thing is bullshit, and it's only the beginning.

The second time, Sergio thinks he handles it a little better. He kind of retreats into himself, mouth clacking closed, pretending he doesn't hear the words engagement or wedding or Sara, and eventually the subject changes and they move on.

In an interview, taking place after a win against Sevilla in a La Liga game, it's a little easier to deal with because Iker seems to be just as done with the whole thing as Sergio feels, and he honest to god gives the interviewer a thumbs up when it's brought up, with a tight, almost sarcastic smile. Which is why, later on, Sergio isn't irritated with Iker. Which is why he doesn't pout or brood when he's sat next to Iker during the flight. Which is why he doesn't push Iker's hand off his thigh, which squeezes tightly when they arrive in Madrid.

In another interview, Sergio is somehow roped into the whole thing. The interviewer says something about ring bearers, and Sergio retreats again, trying to focus on the awesome sandwich he'd had for lunch earlier instead of more engagement talk (seriously, how many times can they bring it up? Are people still interested in this? Because Sergio sure as hell isn't).

But Iker says something about Cristiano being reckless, and then he says Sergio's name, followed with, "I reckon he'll keep it safe," and Sergio has no choice but to tune into the conversation.

Oh, yeah, he would definitely keep the ring safe. He'd shove it so far up Iker's ass that it'd be impossible to lose, if he ever managed to get it back out.

So it's fairly obvious that Sergio isn't exactly jumping for joy for his best friend, but he can't help it. And it's taking its toll, he realizes. He and Iker argue more than they ever have, which is weird. They don't fight, Iker and Sergio. Iker’s the capitán and Sergio is the vice-capián. They have been best friends for ages, they understand each other, and they just don’t fight.

This is different. This isn't a big blow up. This is small little bickering arguments over the stupidest things. Iker borrows Sergio's favourite shirt without asking, and Sergio harps on him about never packing enough, never asking before he touches all their stuff. Iker lets it slip at an interview about the time Sergio drooled on him when he'd accidentally fallen asleep during a flight, and Sergio glares at him for the rest of the interview. Iker is the only one who doesn't tweet Sergio on his birthday, and Sergio ignores him for three days.

It's all petty and ridiculous, and the others are starting to notice it, but Sergio can't help it, he really can't. He's just so irritated by Iker lately. Every single thing he does has Sergio's jaw clenching and his teeth gritting, and the feeling seems to be mutual, if Iker's snappy mood towards Sergio is any indication.

The short, few weeks break they take before the next match is probably good for them all.

*

Sergio figured the time apart would make things better between them. Abstinence makes the heart grow fonder, or something like that. Or is it absence? Whatever, it doesn't matter because it didn't.

It's after they've gotten off the plane, everyone stiff and irritable, and they're climbing into the car to take them to the hotel. The entire team was in the same bus and since Iker and Sergio were the capitáns they got on the bus last, to make sure that everyone was there. Unfortunately for them, there were only two seats left, which leaves Iker and Sergio in the middle seats. And as Iker's pulling on his seatbelt, even though there was no need to, he elbows Sergio in the side.

Sergio makes an annoyed sound before he can help himself, and then Iker's turning on him, eyes narrowed, snapping, "It's not like I fucking did it on purpose, Sergio."

Two months ago, Sergio would have been wounded by that tone and look in Iker's eyes. Now, all it does is make anger flare inside him. "I didn't even say anything!" he snaps right back, a little defensively.

"Whatever," Iker grumbles, settling back into his seat. He crosses his arms over his chest, glaring at the front of the bus.

Sergio could let it go. He knows Iker, knows that Iker would be happy to leave the argument at that, brooding all the way back to the hotel. He'd give Sergio the silent treatment, ignoring him for as long as he could before he broke and they both apologized. But Sergio doesn't let it go. "Are you trying to pick a fight with me?" he demands. "Because it feels like you go off on me for every tiny little thing."

"Are you kidding me?" Iker looks more than a little scandalized. "You're the one always starting shit lately! You've got something stuck so far up your ass these last few weeks that—"

"Fuck you, Iker," Sergio growls.

Iker actually looks a little surprised by the vehemence in Sergio's tone; Sergio is, too. But that doesn't stop Iker from spitting "Fuck you," right back.

"Guys." Cristiano leans forward, hands resting on the back of Iker and Sergio's seats. "What the hell is going on?"

Neither of them answer, for a moment. They both just sit there, turned to each other, Cristiano' hands acting as a separator between their bodies. That little argument was all it took to make Sergio feel heated, his hands clenched into fists, his chest heaving, his breathing unsteady. He figures his face is red, too, but so is Iker's, his cheeks flushed and his mouth a thin, angry line.

When he's mad, Iker's a little frightening. He's not the same as the others, shouting and stomping and making a scene. Iker is good with words, can slice into someone with a simple sentence, but it's his looks that kill. That anger etched into every line of his face, a dark, almost scary look in his eyes. Iker would be the one to punch you, out of all of the lads. Cristiano might raise a hand and consider slapping someone, but you'd have to push him pretty far to make him actually do it, Sergio figures. If Gareth's drunk enough, Sergio could see him getting physical, maybe. Marcelo — he doesn't want to know what it would take to get Marcelo to snap enough to hit someone, but it'd have to be something terrible.

Iker, on the other hand, is like a venomous snake when he's angry. Sergio's honestly waiting for him to strike.

Instead, Iker sighs and breaks eye contact. "Nothing's going on," he mutters. "Stay out of it, Cristiano."

"Stay out of it," Cristiano repeats. "You realize that this fight between the two of you affects the team as a whole, yes? That when you two are fighting, it throws off the entire dynamic on the field and—"

"Stay out of it, Cristiano," Sergio says this time.

Cristiano leans back in his seat, looking sufficiently put out. Sergio would feel bad if he weren't too busy being angry at Iker. And maybe Cristiano does have a point, rationally, but Sergio doesn't care. This is between the two of them, not the entire team, and as much as Sergio loves his boys, his brothers more then anything, sometimes he can't always think with a group mentality.

There isn't a horde of fans outside the hotel when they get there, probably because they're not publicly scheduled to get to the hotel until tomorrow. This gives them a whole day (or until one of them gets spotted and hell breaks loose) of freedom. Normally Sergio would take advantage of that, they'd all go out together, maybe, enjoy themselves while they can. Now, all Sergio wants to do is go to his room and sleep.

When Sergio receives his room key, he gets in the elevator with his carry-on bag and goes to do just that, but Cristiano follows him, his own key held tightly in his hands. Sergio wonders if he can lock Cristiano out, just shut the door behind himself and ignore Cristiano when he inevitably pounds on the door and curses up a storm for Sergio ignoring him, but he knows he can't. Having Iker mad at him is bad enough; he doesn't want to fight with Cristiano, too.

“Looks like we’re rooming,” was the only thing Cristiano said when he opened the door with his own key.

Sergio’d normally room with Iker, but after the fight they just had he didn’t blame him for switching room with Cristiano.

Sergio drops his bag on the floor by the end of the bed. He barely even takes inventory of the room. At this point, they've stayed at so many hotels that they all blur together. Most of them are near exact replicas of each other. Sergio sinks onto the bed and looks up at Cristiano, who went straight to the window, pulling back the curtain to let natural lighting into the room. "If you're going to lecture me," Sergio starts, but he doesn't get to finish.

"I'm not going to lecture you," Cristiano promises, and Sergio lets out a sigh of relief. "I'm going to give you some good, friendly advice."

Sergio groans, falling back against the mattress. "How's that any different?"

"You know," Cristiano muses, "I miss it when you weren't a sassy little shit. I miss stuck up, reserved Sergio. Bring him back to me, would you?"

Sergio flips him off.

"Seriously, though." Cristiano sits on the bed, letting out a sigh. "I don't know what happened with the two of you, Sergio, but it's…. You need to fix it. It's not just between the two of you anymore, it's between all of us. And none of us like to see either of you hurting."

"We're not hurting," Sergio argues. "I'm not hurting, at least. I'm peachy, actually. Wonderful. Brilliant, even. Completely happy."

"Sergio," Cristiano says, and Sergio tilts his head to the side, raising his eyebrows. "Come on, babe. You can lie to the rest of the world, but you can't lie to me. I know you too well, idiot."

"People fight," Sergio says, almost softly. "It happens, especially when they spend as much time together as we do. It's not a big deal, Cristiano. It'll blow over. We're just irritable, or something; I don't know. It'll be fine."

"That's the thing, though!" Cristiano nearly shouts. Sergio had seen this coming. It's near impossible to have a quiet, soft spoken conversation with Cristiano. Cristiano is full volume, all the time. "You and Iker don't fight, Sergio! That's the point! You're not supposed to. You're supposed to have each other's backs. You're supposed to be best friends."

"Best friends fight."

"Not because one of them gets engaged," Cristiano snips. "At least, not male best friends. Sometimes girls do, but that's more jealousy over the fact that one of them is getting hitched before the other than anything."

Sergio sits up so fast that the room goes out of focus for a second. "That's not what this is about," Sergio says, dangerously quiet.

"What did I just say about you lying to me?" Cristiano gives him a disbelieving look. "You and I both know that this whole — riff between you two happened after the engagement, so don't try to bullshit your way out of this, Sergio."

"I'm not," Sergio denies. "This isn't about that."

"Then what's it about, hmm?"

It takes Sergio a moment to answer that, but he refuses to give Cristiano the satisfaction of admitting that maybe he's right. Sergio doesn't want to think about the engagement being the reason behind this, because then he'd have to open that box that he sealed away, the one he'd stuffed all his feelings for Iker in and locked tightly. The one he refuses to ever open because it'd be the end of everything, he thinks.

Their fight is not about the engagement. "It's about Iker being a prick," he decides.

Cristiano snorts. "Seriously? That the best you got? We're all pricks, but you're not fighting with the rest of us."

Sergio shrugs and lies back down against the bed. Not long after, Cristiano sighs and runs his hands through Sergio's hair. It feels nice, even if it was something that used to throw him off, the touching. He's gotten used to it, over the years. Learned to like it, crave it when he doesn't get it. Cristiano brushing his hands though Sergio's hair is just as normal as Cristiano laying on Marcelo and Gareth, or Iker falling asleep with his head on Sergio's shoulder.

"You need to fix this," Cristiano says again, eventually. "Apologize. Tell him you're sorry for being an ass, and—"

"Me?" Sergio glares at Cristiano without lifting his head. "He's the one who's always starting it."

"So be the bigger man and finish it," Cristiano snaps. "Bitter jealousy doesn't look good on anyone."

"I'm not bitter," Sergio grumbles, doing his best not to pout or sound like a whiny child. "And I'm not jealous."

"Then there's no reason for the two of you to be fighting," Cristiano says. "So apologize."

"Why can't you tell him to apologize?"

"This is Iker we're talking about," Cristiano reminds him. "He might be a ridiculous goofball, but there is some truth to his broody, angsty image. And he's stubborn as hell. You have to be the first to say it and you know it."

Yeah, Sergio does.

And Sergio does want the fighting to stop, he realizes. As mad as he is at Iker, Sergio misses him when they're not close. He misses being able to call on Iker in the middle of the night just to chat. He misses the teasing banter that isn't aimed to insult and hurt. He misses Iker, in general, everything about him, all the time.

"Okay," Sergio agrees. "I'll try."

"Good," Cristiano says, happy and bright. "Maybe tonight? We could all go out, do something together, like. Dinner, or a movie, maybe. 's been a while since we've all done something out together, the entire team, the legendary Real Madrid Squad."

Which is true. But it'd be nice, actually. If they could get Iker on board.

"Don't you worry about that," Cristiano says. "I'll convince Iker. You work out your big, dramatic apology speech."

"Apology speech?" Sergio repeats. "I was planning something like 'Sorry for fighting with you lately' and praying he says it back."

"Whatever." Cristiano climbs off the bed. "Be ready for seven, okay?"

Sergio nods and Cristiano finally leaves him alone with his thoughts.

*

"It's the best I could do on short notice," Cristiano grumbles. "And we all like bowling. What's the big deal?"

"I thought we were going to a club," Iker argues. "I didn't agree to spending my night off throwing balls down a lane with you."

"We'll go to a club later," Cristiano bargains. "Bowling first. All of us, like we used to. It'll be fun."

It's the 'like we used to' that gets them all. Sergio sees the moment it happens, the way Marcelo grins, and Iker shuffles his feet on the ground with his hands buried in his pockets, shoulders drooping. He feels it himself, too, any hesitance pushed away because it'd be nice, actually, to do something like they used to. They had never bowled before, but it was the fact that they something together, as a team. Iker's gaze lifts, meeting Sergio's steadily. Sergio chews his bottom lip, and he refuses to be the first one to break eye contact. Iker seems determined not to break it, either, which leaves them stuck there, in a staring match that's only occasionally paused when one of them blinks.

"Let's get our shoes." Cristiano claps Sergio on the shoulder and Sergio finally pulls his eyes away from Iker, just as Cristiano nods his head in Iker's direction. "I'll get yours and Iker's. You two talk."

Cristiano pulls the others away, leaving Iker and Sergio standing there, just inside the bowling alley. There's a claw machine beside them, filled with cheap toys that you'll spend more than they're worth trying to win. The whole alley is rented out for them, the only other people inside being employees, which means it's really, really quiet. In the distance he can hear Toni and James arguing while Fábio pulls on his bowling shoes, and he wishes it were louder because the quiet feels oppressive.

"Talk about what?" Iker finally asks, eyebrows raised expectantly, something guarded in his eyes like he's expecting another fight, is already prepared for it.

Sergio rubs at the back of his neck. "I'm supposed to apologize."

Iker snorts. "An apology doesn't count if someone else forced you into it, Sergio."

Sergio hates that, the cold distance in Iker's voice. That's not how this is supposed to be. He and Iker should be over there with the others, laughing with each other while Iker wrinkles his nose at the bowling shoes, and Sergio nearly trips trying pulling his own on. They're supposed to ruffle each other's hair until it's a mess, playfully shove at each other's shoulders, laugh like they mean it. Not glare at each other, tensed and ready for another argument, separated from the group.

"I mean it," Sergio says, honest and sincere. "I'm sorry for — everything lately."

Iker glares at him for about two more seconds before a smile twitches at his lips, and then he gives in, full on grinning at Sergio. "Really?"

"I don't like fighting with you," Sergio admits. "I actually hate it. It's the worst."

"Yeah," Iker agrees. "It sucks." He drops his gaze. "I don't even really, like, know what started it in the first place."

Sergio swallows, thinking that he knows, at least. But he's not going to say it out loud, because if he says it out loud that'll make it true. And that'll ruin everything. "So, bowling?" Sergio says instead.

Iker bumps their shoulders together. "Get ready to have your ass kicked, Ramos."

Sergio scoffs. "You're a shit bowler, Casillas, and you know it."

Iker sticks out his tongue and they make their way over to the others. Half an hour later and they're nearly done their first game, with Cristiano and Sergio winning and Iker right behind them, and Marcelo and Gareth helplessly struggling to keep up.

It's so freaking refreshing, Sergio thinks. It's so nice to laugh when Iker gets a gutter ball, but not laugh at him. And it's nice that Iker flips him off with a grin on his face afterwards. It's going good. It's fun. Sergio's sipping his bottle of water, watching as Cristiano takes his turn, and then Iker's phone rings and ruins the entire thing.

Iker gets up, digging into his pocket as he puts a bit of distance between all of them. And Sergio hears it, hears his, "Hey, babe," all soft and sweet, followed not long after by, "I miss you, too."

Sergio grits his teeth, but he promises himself that he won't let it get to him. They just patched things up. He's not going to go and ruin it because he's jealous. Not that he's jealous. Shit.

"Sergio," Cristiano says. "You're up, mate."

Sergio blinks. He recaps his drink and grabs his ball, and takes a step up to the lane. It goes directly in the gutter, and Cristiano snickers. Sergio glares at him for it and waits for his ball to come back out, and then he goes up to the line again, taking a deep breath.

Iker and Sara's talk was short, apparently, because Sergio sees him out the corner of his eyes, sinking down next to Gareth, arm going around Gareth's shoulders. Sergio takes a deep breath, pushing Iker from his mind, and swings his arm back.

There's a loud thump when his ball hits the lane, released a little too late. It actually bounces before going crooked. It rolls slowly into the gutter, and it takes a long, long time before it reaches the end of the lane, disappearing without knocking down a single pin.

"Nice one," Iker teases. "Put your hands together, everyone. Sergio Ramos: Bowling Extraordinaire."

"I'm still beating you," Sergio grits before he can stop himself.

Iker looks taken aback only for a second. "For now," he challenges. "I'm catching up."

He does. In fact, Iker wins, beating Cristiano only by a few points. Sergio clenches his hands into fists, tells himself it's just the game, nothing else, that's annoying him. He doesn't like to lose, that's all. Sergio's competitive, always has been. He's the type of person who has to do the best; there's no second place for Sergio.

Except when it comes to Iker, apparently.

Whatever. Cristiano is right; bitter jealousy doesn't look good on anyone, and he locks that box up again, adds this night to the pile of things he doesn't want to think about, and he focuses on winning the next game instead. But he loses spectacularly, and his mood gets worse.

"Smile, Sergio," Cristiano says at one point. "It's bowling, not a visit to the dentist."

Sergio smiles, completely put on until Gareth pokes at his cheek, and then it gets a little more genuine. Until Iker's up, and he completely botches his turn. Now it's completely genuine.

"Wow, Iker," Sergio says. "You know, I always thought the point was to actually hit the pins, but your way works too, I guess."

On Iker's second go, he falters, and this time Sergio only laughs at him.

"Don't be an asshole," Iker spits as he takes his seat.

Sergio feigns innocence. "It's just a game, Iker. It's okay to suck."

Marcelo leans forward in his seat, nervously darting a glance between the two of them. He's sitting right beside Sergio, now, and Sergio's sure Marcelo can feel it. There might be a slightly teasing note in their voices, but there's an annoyed energy that cracks between Sergio and Iker yet again, hot and electric, ready to strike at any moment.

When Sergio gets up to take his turn, Iker shouts something just before he releases the ball, and it goes wide, actually falling into the next lane. Sergio whirls, eyes wide, and Iker cackles, looking so pleased with himself.

"What the hell was that?" Sergio demands. "That's cheating!"

"It's just a game, Sergio," Iker mocks. "It's okay to suck."

"That was a nice forty minutes," Cristiano sighs. "God, you two are fucking ridiculous."

"He started it," Iker grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.

No, Sergio thinks. Iker started it. Iker started it when he asked her to marry him without — "Whatever," Sergio says, standing up. "I'm going back to the hotel."

"We might as all go," Cristiano snaps. "This was pointless."

"But the game's not over," Gareth protests. "I reckon I could still win this."

"You've knocked over fifteen pins the whole game," Marcelo tells him. "Fifteen."

"Is that good?" Gareth whispers. Marcelo shakes his head solemnly. "Oh, alright. We can go, then."

The five of them inform the rest of the squad and then head back to the hotel while the others were still bowling.

The ride is quiet. Sergio sits between Gareth and Cristiano, with Iker and Marcelo in front of him, whispering heatedly. Or, Iker's fiercely saying things under his breath, gesturing animatedly while Marcelo looks tired and sad. Guilt floods Sergio, since it's his fault and he knows it, but then Iker's phone rings again and the guilt disappears.

This time it's Iker who follows him to his room. Sergio hears his footsteps, almost whirls around and shouts at him for it, but instead he leaves his door open when he steps inside, and Iker comes in behind him, looking annoyed and hurt, simultaneously.

"What was the point of apologizing, then?" Iker wonders. "You went back to being an asshole five fucking minutes later. I don't see what you were gaining there."

Sergio sighs and rolls his eyes. "I wasn't trying to be an asshole," he says, because he wasn't. It just sorta happened. Like Iker's freaking engagement.

"But you still succeeded," Iker says.

"You were pretty fast to be an asshole right back," Sergio points out. "Don't put this all on me."

"But you started it!" Iker snaps. "Every time! And I don't know what the fuck happened, but it's getting really tiring, Sergio."

"What's getting tiring?" Sergio demands. "Fighting with me? Because you seem to enjoy it."

"Trying to like you anymore," Iker answers, low and angry.

Sergio winces. So that's it, then. This is what their friendship has crumbled down to. And it hurts, actually. It really freaking hurts to hear Iker say that, but it's easier to pretend that it doesn't, to channel that annoyance inside him instead, which is why he steps up to Iker and says, "Then stop trying."

Iker shoves him. Just as Sergio knew would eventually happen. "I fucking will, then," Iker snaps.

Sergio pushes him right back. Iker stumbles, eyes wide, and he's grabbing at Sergio to stay upright, but Sergio steps back, lets Iker nearly fall flat on his face. Iker catches himself at the last second, though, and he gapes at Sergio, equal parts angry and shocked.

"Get out of my room," Sergio orders, "because I'm not stopping at pushing you next time."

"Oh, like you'd ever hit me," Iker spits. "You don't have the fucking guts to do it, Ramos. But fine." He pulls open the door. "Consider this me walking out of your life, you fucking—" He can't seem to find the right word to fit there, so he slams the door instead.

"Asshole!" Sergio shouts through the door.

"Go fuck yourself!" Iker shouts right back.

Sergio makes a frustrated sound as he locks the door, and then he paces the room, furious and helpless.

Did that really happen?

Sure, they've been fighting constantly lately but — but that was different. Something broke, he realizes. Between Iker pushing him and Sergio pushing him back, something snapped and cracked and shattered. Something incredibly important.

Them, Sergio realizes. Their friendship. That's what just happened, isn't it? It went from petty arguing to a real, full out blow-up. And there's this sinking in Sergio's stomach, like there's no coming back from that. Like they've been broken into too many pieces to ever glue back together, and it's all because of Sergio. He did start it, he knows.

But Iker continued it, he thinks. It's just as much Iker's fault as it is Sergio's. He didn't try to apologize. At least Sergio had made that last attempt to fix things; Iker never does. Iker's the type of person who would rather let things break if they're already cracked, never attempting to put them back together before they're ruined irreparably.

Fine. If that's what Iker wants, fine. Sergio doesn't need him, anyways.

Sergio pulls off his shirt, kicks off his shoes, and undoes his jeans. He crawls into bed, tugging the blankets up high, still fuming. It takes him forever to get to sleep, but when he does he's still cursing Iker's name, vowing to never forgive him for this. Lying in the hotel bed, too hot to get comfortable, Sergio thinks that he may just hate Iker.

At least, he hates Iker for making him like this.

Later at night he hears Cristiano coming back to their room, but he doesn’t move and just lies there with his eyes closed, wishing this all was just a bad dream.

*

When Sergio wakes up, it feels like he'd barely slept. And there's this heaviness, this aching in his head, the way he always feels when he'd spent the whole night crying. But he hadn't shed a single tear last night, though he almost had out of frustration.

Immediately everything from last night comes back to him, and he angrily kicks off the blankets, feeling annoyed already.

"Go back to bed."

Sergio jumps at Marcelo's voice, eyes wide. He turns, finding Marcelo half asleep next to him.

When had he gotten here? Where was Cristiano?

Frowning, Sergio wipes at his eyes and shakes his head. "What are you doing here?" he asks.

"Tryin' sleep," Marcelo mumbles. "Please be quiet."

Sergio snorts fondly. He's polite, Marcelo, even when he's half-unconscious. Sergio shakes his head again and gets out of bed, heading for the bathroom. He has to pee bad, and he needs something for his head. Maybe fighting with Iker has given him a headache. Wouldn't be the first time.

Something's a little off about his room, but Sergio's too tired to think of what it is. It almost looks like a different room, actually. The windows are on the opposite side, and the bathroom was definitely against the left wall, he thought, but now it's against the right.

He's losing it, apparently. Or maybe he's still half asleep like Marcelo, he reasons. Whatever it is, he figures a shower will help.

Sergio rubs at his eyes as he passes the mirror, going straight for the toilet, but he pauses, eyebrows furrowing, and backtracks. And then he kind of just gapes at himself in the mirror. Only it's not — it's not his mouth that falls open in the reflection. It's not his eyes that are wide and fucking shocked. It's not his reflection.

Sergio's looked at Iker a lot in his life (it's hard not to) and he knows what Iker looks like, whether he's done up, hair styled and wearing a perfectly pressed suit and clean shaven, or scruffy with messy hair and dirty sweats. There is no mistaking what he's seeing in the mirror, and it's Iker.

Cautiously, Sergio lifts a hand. Iker in the mirror lifts his hand. Sergio presses it to the glass, and the reflection mirrors the action. Sergio licks his lips; Iker in the mirror licks his lips. Sergio pinches himself and winces; so does Iker in the mirror.

What the hell is happening?

Sergio looks down. He'd gone to sleep in his black boxers. Now, his skinny, hairy thighs are wrapped in white briefs. His tattoos are all gone.

Swallowing, Sergio pulls the collar of the tank top he's wearing (he'd went to sleep shirtless) away, peering down at his chest. Still no tattoos. Holy shit.

Sergio turns, fumbling with the bathroom door as he pulls it open. He stumbles into the room, and he realizes now why it looks odd. It's not his room. It's completely different, on the opposite side of the building so everything's reversed. And that explains Marcelo in his bed. Iker, who switched rooms with Cristiano, was now rooming with Marcelo.

"Marcelo," Sergio hisses but — it's Iker's voice. He reaches for Marcelo's shoulders, shaking them violently. "Get up!"

Marcelo rolls over, eyes blinking open slowly. "What's wrong?" he asks. "I’m tired, Iker. Stop."

"Who am I?" Sergio demands.

"Excuse me?" Marcelo sits up, rubbing at his eyes.

"Who am I?" Sergio repeats, a little shrilly. "Who am I, Marcelo?"

"Is this some kinky thing where I'm supposed to call you daddy?" Marcelo wonders. "Because it's too early for that."

"Marcelo," Sergio snaps. "This is serious. Who am I?"

"Iker," Marcelo states. "You're Iker. And you're acting crazy, just so you know."

Sergio shakes his head, clutching at his throat for some reason. He can't breathe; he's panicking. What's happening here? Is this some kind of nightmare? Or maybe, like, someone broke into his room while he was passed out and drugged him or something. That's got to be it. This is insane.

"I'm— I'm not Iker," Sergio says. "I'm not Iker. I'm Sergio."

Marcelo lazily blinks at him, yawning without covering his mouth. "You're what?"

"Oh my God," Sergio says, falling onto the bed. "This is really happening."

"What's really happening?" Marcelo demands. He sounds a little concerned now, as he sits all the way up, peering closely at Sergio. "Are you drunk? Did you sneak out while I was asleep and get trashed?"

Sergio shakes his head, trying to calm his panting breaths. "I went to sleep," Sergio says, "and I woke up in Iker's body, Marcelo. What the fuck is happening?"

"Is this a prank?" Marcelo asks, no longer concerned. He's starting to look annoyed, like Sergio's being difficult. "You and Cristiano need to be stopped. This is weird, even for you. What do you mean you woke up in Iker's body? You are Iker."

"No, I'm not," Sergio insists. "Marcelo, it's —" Sergio frowns, trying to think of a way to prove this because he needs Marcelo to panic with him, to explain what the hell is happening here. "When we won the half final of the Champions League," Sergio says, "you told me in private that you wanted to make out with Toni’s girlfriend."

Marcelo's lips part in surprise, and Sergio thinks he's convinced him until Marcelo says, "I can't believe Sergio told you that! That was private!"

"No one had to tell me because I was there," Sergio groans. "Marcelo. I swear I'm Sergio." He reaches up to tug a hand through his hair, but it feels different. Of course it does. "I— I took care of you when you had the flu last fall. You cried while watching Monsters, Inc. on my sofa. I'm Sergio!" Sergio shouts, frustrated. "I'm not Iker."

Marcelo lifts his hands defensively. "Okay, okay, you're Sergio."

Sergio sighs. "You don't believe me."

"I think," Marcelo says carefully, "that maybe all that crying you did last night made has made you really tired."

"I — Iker cried last night?" Sergio blurts. "Why?"

Marcelo frowns at him. "Because of your fight with Sergio," he says, slow and punctuated. "Because you hate fighting with him, and you regretted what you said but you're too stubborn to apologize for it. Which is still dumb, by the way."

"He said that?" Sergio's pulse seems to race even more. "He said he regretted it?"

"You said that you regretted it," Marcelo says. "Iker, are you sure you're okay? Should I call someone?"

"No," Sergio snaps, realizing there's no use. Marcelo's not going to believe him, and Sergio can't really blame him for it. "I'm going to find Iker. I'll… I'll figure this out."

"Iker," Marcelo calls after him. "Don't—"

Sergio shuts the hotel room door behind him, hurrying down the hall. Marcelo comes out after him, but Sergio doesn't turn around. He tries the handle on the door to his own room, but it's locked, so he slams his hands on the door repeatedly.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," he hears himself groan. That's… that's just weird. It sounds almost like a recording, but it's him. Only it's not him because he's him and he's in Iker's body and— Shit, his head hurts.

"Iker," Marcelo says, catching up to him, slightly breathless, "what are you doing?"

Sergio ignores him, and the door finally opens. It's not exactly like looking in a mirror, he thinks as he looks at himself. It's a little different. It's freaky, is what it is. It's like one of those cardboard cut outs he's seen, only more realistic, for obvious reasons. And he can't help but reach out for himself, just to prove that this is really true, and then Sergio watches as his own mouth opens and he lets out a slightly girly shout.

"What the fuck?" Not-Sergio, but whoever's in Sergio's body, shouts. "What— what the fuck?"

"Iker?" Sergio asks. "Please tell me you're you because I'm freaking out and—"

The door slams shut. Sergio blinks in surprise, and Marcelo puts a gentle but firm hand on his arm. "Let's get you back to bed," he says. "I think you're sick, Iker."

"I'm not crazy," Sergio says. He knocks rapidly on the door again. "Iker! Open the freaking door!"

He does. Sergio's not used to seeing that particular look on his face. It's wary and confused and scared, his lips parted slightly, his breath held, eyes wide with his eyebrows drawn together. "Sergio?" Sergio's body says.

"Iker?" Sergio says back.

Sergio's body — Iker — nods slowly. Iker looks down at himself, then at up at Sergio. He reaches out a hand and pokes Sergio's cheek. "Is this seriously happening?" he whispers. "Or am I dreaming?"

"This is really starting to freak me out," Marcelo says quietly. "Cut it out, seriously."

They ignore him. Sergio reaches out and pushes at Iker's — his?— chest, and watches himself stumble back just a bit. "Holy crap," Sergio says. "Holy crap."

"Did you slip something into my fucking drink last night?" Iker demands of Marcelo.

Marcelo looks between the two of them for a long moment. "I'm going to wake Cristiano," he says. "This isn't funny."

Sergio doesn't even try to stop him. Instead he pushes him into his room, and Iker shuts the door behind them. And then they turn towards each other and just stare for a long moment. Does his nose actually look that big, Sergio wonders? Are his eyebrows really that bushy?

Sergio watches his chest rise and fall rapidly, and red spreads into his cheeks. His forehead looks slick with sweat, and he realizes that Iker's freaking out.

"Why am I you?" Iker asks. "How is this even possible?"

Without any warning, Iker reaches out and pulls at the waistband of Sergio's briefs, peeking inside. Sergio yelps and pushes him away, flushing, and Iker frowns at him for it. It's weird, watching his face do things like that, because the look is definitely Iker's but it's on Sergio's face and— yeah, this whole thing is just fucked up.

"It's my dick," Iker points out. "I was just checking."

Which is true, but still. Sergio steps away from him, pacing the room as he runs his hands through his hair obsessively until the thick strands stop resisting, all the knots sorted out. Iker goes and sits on the bed, just watching him with a pinched look on his face.

"This is freaky," Iker says. His eyes widen. "Like that Lindsay Lohan movie, when her and her mom were fighting and then they…" Iker trails off when Sergio turns to him. "They switch bodies. Holy shit."

"That's insane," Sergio says, logically. "That doesn't happen in real life. That's a movie."

"I'm watching myself pace around the room," Iker points out. "That's pretty fucking insane."

It's weird, the different afflictions Iker puts on words. He's talking in Sergio's voice, but it's his accent coming out of Sergio's mouth, not Sergio's. Sergio is possibly going to throw up. That's a really big possibility.

Sergio is pinching the bridge of his nose when Cristiano and Marcelo come to where they both were standing. Marcelo frowns at the two of them, but Cristiano says, "Marcelo tells me you two are playing a prank on him, pretending that you've switched bodies or something."

"It's not a prank," Iker says immediately.

Cristiano scoffs and gives Sergio a look. "Seriously, Iker, this is weak. And if you wanted to pretend to switch bodies with someone, why didn't you come to me?"

"Cristiano," Iker says. "It's not a fucking prank. This is really fucking happening."

"Hmm." Cristiano crosses his arms over his chest. He looks at Iker.

"Sergio, you better not be fucking with me."

"I'm not," Sergio says, and Cristiano looks up sharply at him instead of Iker.

Cristiano comes over to him then, eyes narrowed. He leans down, lips nearly brushing Sergio's ear as he whispers, for Sergio's ears only, too quiet for anyone else to hear, "When you were drunk on your birthday last year and you called me, who did you tell me you were in love with?"

Sergio knows he's blushing, but he sucks up the embarrassment and whispers, careful to keep his voice as soft as possible, "Iker."

"Holy shit." Cristiano pokes his cheek, and why is everyone doing that? "Sergio? Is that really you?"

"That's what we've been trying to tell you," Sergio says. He looks at Marcelo.

"I went to bed last night, and I woke up in Iker's body."

"It sounds insane when he puts it like that," Iker pipes up, "but same. I went to sleep in bed with you, Marcelo, and I woke up next to Cristiano — to Sergio pounding on the door in my body."

Marcelo still looks a little dubious, Cristiano keeps poking Sergio all over, "why don't I get to switch with someone?" he asks, looking a bit put out. "Why do you two get to have all the fun?"

"Do you want to be in Sergio's body, mate?" Iker asks. "My arms weigh a ton." He lifts them, bulging the muscles, and makes a face. "I'm all bulky. It's annoying."

Sergio tries, and fails, to not get offended by Iker insulting his body. "Or you could have Iker's," Sergio counters. "I mean, he's got big hands, big ears, big everything, who wouldn’t want to look like Dumbo?"

"He's been in Iker's body less than a day and he's already being a sarcastic twat," Cristiano comments. "At least now we know it's not Iker's fault; apparently it's in his DNA."

Sergio looks between them all for a moment. Marcelo seems to have finally accepted this, and he looks a little confused, maybe, but no longer on the verge of admitting them all into a psychiatric hospital. Cristiano looks almost delighted at the whole thing, like this is wonderful and not completely fucked up. And Iker — Iker looks bored, which is something only Iker could manage in this type of situation.

Sergio? Sergio is lost. His pulse is still racing, his head feels light and heavy, at the same time. Like he'd stood up too fast and had gotten a head rush. He groans at the feeling, at the situation, and at his teammates. "Why are we all so calm about this? Why am I the only one freaking out?"

"Because that's your thing," Cristiano points out. "That's what you do."

"Can you just—" Sergio cuts himself off, taking a deep breath. "Can everyone just leave for a moment, please? I need to clear my head."

Marcelo leaves immediately, always respectful. Cristiano lingers back, like he wants to stay, but then he sighs and follows him out, leaving Sergio and Iker alone.

"We need to fix this," Sergio says. "We need to figure out how to fix this."

Iker is sitting on the bed still, leaning back on the palms of his hands. Palms of Sergio's hands, Sergio corrects. It's like he knew, without Sergio having to say it, that when Sergio asked everyone to leave, Iker wasn't included in that. "How do you know there is a way to fix this?" he asks.

Sergio gapes at him. What if there's not? What if they're stuck like this forever? What if he never gets his body back? What if he's stuck being Iker for the rest of his life? How would they explain that? And — shit, they have a game tomorrow, as well as an interview afterwards. Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, god.

"Sese," Iker says gently, and it throws Sergio off even more because that's still Sergio's voice, but it's so clearly not Sergio who's talking. There's such a distinct difference in it that it makes Sergio's head hurt even worse.

Sergio is panicking. He's not just slightly freaking out, he's panicking. He tugs at his — fuck, Iker's— hair, the pain of it going through him doing nothing to calm the storm brewing inside of him. And he can't breathe. He's trying, oh, he's trying, but he can't.

Iker gets off the bed. Sergio is too busy having some sort of fit to push him away, and Iker's arms go around him, holding on a little too tightly. His arms are like a vice around Sergio, muscular and almost painful, cutting off his airways more than the panic had. "I can't breathe," Sergio gasps. "Iker, you're too—"

Iker lets him go instantly, stumbling back a step. "Do I always feel that breakable to you?" he asks.

He does, Sergio thinks. That's why Sergio's always so gentle with him. Sure, Iker's been working out lately, bulking up, but Sergio's always, always so careful with him, even when they're roughhousing. With the others, Sergio isn't like that. He'll tackle Cristiano to the ground, falling on top of him in a laughing heap. But with Iker he's more conscious, always breaking the fall with his own body before flipping them over so Iker's on his back.

"I don't know," Sergio mumbles, instead of saying any of that. He can't say any of that.

Iker's eyes brighten, a grin sliding onto his face. "You're, like, strong," he says, sounding delighted. "Do you think I could punch through a wall? Kick down a door? Have you ever tried?"

Sergio frowns at him, panic momentarily pushed aside. "What? I— no. I'm not a superhero, Iker."

Iker shrugs, flexing Sergio's arms, looking down at them in interest. "You kind of feel like one," he says. And then he wraps his arms around Sergio again, and next thing Sergio knows, he's being picked up off the ground, legs dangling inches above it. When Iker puts him back down, he's still grinning and he says, "You could do some serious damage, Sergio."

"Are you done?" Sergio demands. "Could you stop screwing around for a second and focus on the fact that this is really, really fucked up?"

Iker rolls his eyes, a petulant look on his face. Sergio's fairly certain he's never had that particular look morph his features before, and he doesn't like it very much.

"Fine," Iker snaps. He goes back to the bed, flopping onto it, leaning up on his elbows. "But I don't see what you plan to do here, Sergio. I have no idea how we got like this, and I'm sure you don't either. Which means that we have no control over it, so trying to fix it is going to be pretty damn hard."

Sergio blinks at him. Iker has a point, but that doesn't make this any less of a reason for panic. "So what do you suggest we do?"

Iker shrugs and yawns. "Go with it," he says. "Nothing else we can do, right? I'm sure it'll work itself out."

Normally Sergio likes how chill Iker is about everything. It's a breath of fresh air when you compare him to the others. When Cristiano and Gareth are being crazy and loud, and Iker's just sitting there, smiling faintly but not getting involved. When Toni and James bicker over something nonsensical, and Iker rolls his eyes but doesn't get involved. Iker always keeps Sergio grounded, but right now he hates that Iker looks so calm about this. How is he so calm about this?

"Work itself out," Sergio repeats. "We have an interview in twenty-four hours! We have a game in twenty-two! Do you realize what's going to happen if we don't turn back?"

There it is, the slight alarm in Iker's face. "Shit," he says.

"Exactly," Sergio says. "Exactly. What are we going to do?"

"I—" Iker reaches up, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I don't know," he admits, looking down at himself. "Might help if we get dressed, maybe."

Sergio's only just now realizes that they're both in nothing but their boxers. Somehow, in the midst of everything else, that wasn't important. "Right," he says. "We should — yeah." He goes over to his own bag, where he's left it by the end of the bed. He starts riffling through it, picking through the clothes until he finds a shirt and jeans. He hands them to Iker, who wrinkles his nose. "What?"

"I'm not wearing that," Iker says. "What else have you got?"

Sergio looks down at the clothes. "What's wrong with this?"

Iker rolls his eyes and pulls Sergio's bag up onto the bed, going through it. He pulls out a tank top and sweater, and keeps the jeans Sergio had pulled out. "You look better in tank tops," Iker mumbles while pulling the shirt on.

Sergio's not sure what to make of that.

When Iker's dressed, he straightens the clothes and nods. "Wait here," he orders. "I'll go get my stuff from my room. I can't believe you walked down the hall in that. If there are pictures of me in just my boxers all over the internet, I'm gonna kill you."

Sergio can't help the snort he gives at that. "Like there aren't already millions of them out there."

Iker flips him off and leaves Sergio alone in the room. The whole time he's gone, Sergio paces the room, trying to calm himself. It feels weird, being in someone else's body. Just like Iker had flexed Sergio's muscles and tested them out, Sergio does the same with Iker's. He lifts his arms, doesn't feel much difference, and frowns to himself. He slides his hands down Iker's stomach, feeling his ribs stick out a bit. And then he realizes what he's doing.

Does this count as groping? Is he groping Iker's body if he's touching himself? Shit.

Iker comes back, dropping his own bag onto the bed beside Sergio's, and Sergio goes through it.

"Seriously?" he demands. "There're two outfits in here." It's not an exaggeration. There's two shirts, a sweater, and a pair of jeans. "How do you plan on living off this for a week?"

Iker shrugs, unconcerned. "Figured I'd nick something off of you when I ran out."

Sergio isn't surprised in the slightest. Iker always does this. With a groan, he pulls out one of the shirts and tugs it on before getting on the jeans and zipping them up. He feels marginally better when he's not mostly naked.

"This is crazy."

"Yeah," Sergio agrees, pushing everything neatly off the bed so he can sit, too. "What're we going to do?"

Iker's eyes snap open. "I don't know," he admits. "I really don't know, Sergio. I've been running it through my mind for the last half an hour, and I honestly — I don't know."

"We're so screwed," Sergio groans, throwing an arm over his face. "Damn it."

Iker leans back, too, so they're laying side-by-side, feet dangling off the bed. He grabs Sergio's hand, fitting their fingers together easily, squeezing tightly.

"It'll be fine, Sergio," Iker says with confidence that Sergio has no doubt is completely put on, faked for Sergio's benefit. He can tell because Iker's using Sergio's lying voice, the one that's a little higher pitched, a little shakier than normal. "Could be worse, yeah?"

"How could it possibly be worse?" Sergio wonders.

Iker grins. "We could have switched with Cristiano," he says. "Think of all the shit he'd do in one of our bodies. Or it could be Gareth. You'd weigh three hundred pounds in a week, if he kept eating the way he does but without his insane metabolism."

Sergio laughs. "True enough," he says. "Or we could have switched with Marcelo. He'd end up getting one of us hit by a bus or something. He's a hazard to society."

"See?" Iker lifts their hands before letting them fall back against the bed. "Could be worse. I'm glad it was you. I mean, if I had to have someone else inside of me—"

Sergio giggles, lifting his free hand to smother the sound. One doesn't spend extended periods of time with Cristiano without finding a way to make most things an anal sex joke.

"Pervert," Iker says, but he's laughing too. "You know what I mean. I'm glad it's you."

And, despite their recent fight, despite it all, Sergio is too. "Yeah," he agrees. "I guess I don't mind having you inside my body, either."

Iker waggles his eyebrows pointedly. "Really."

Sergio flushes, and he finds another reason to be glad he's not in Gareth's body. Gareth's cheeks would have went bright red at that, but he's pretty sure Iker can't see the blush in his own cheeks because of the effect that comment had on Sergio.

Because, like, Sergio wouldn't mind having Iker—

He cuts that thought off instantly. Not going there. The last thing he needs is to get a boner in Iker's body. And, shit, how are they going to deal with things like that? Or with going to the bathroom? Now Sergio's certain he's made Iker's cheeks red, even if he's not as pale as Gareth and it's not as obvious. What are they going to do?

"How're we going to…" Sergio waves his hand. "Shower, and go to the bathroom. How're we going to do that?"

"Um." Iker licks at his lips. "That's a good question, actually."

"We can't avoid it," Sergio points out. "It's going to happen. Even if this thing wears off by the end of the day, we still have to, like…."

"Yeah." Iker nods slowly. "Agree to not look?"

"Agreed."

Iker gets up not much later, going to the bathroom and then he meets Sergio's eyes for a long moment, standing in the doorway, before shutting the bathroom door.

Sergio swallows. Iker's in the bathroom, probably going to the bathroom. Iker is most likely touching Sergio's dick right now, and Sergio doesn't even get to benefit from it. How unfair is that? And how embarrassing is that? Sergio takes it back. He would rather switch bodies with anyone right now. Anyone but Iker.

When Iker comes back out he won't meet Sergio's eyes. Sergio sucks on his bottom lip nervously, a million thoughts going through his mind. "Did you look?" he blurts.

Iker frowns at him, tugging down his shirt a little. "We agreed we wouldn't, did we?" he snaps, but his cheeks are red and Sergio is very, very certain that Iker looked. "I need to— I'm going to my room. I need a nap."

"This is your room," Sergio reminds him. "I mean, it's my room, technically, but you're me so it's your room, actually, and your room is my room and—"

"I get it," Iker says. "Do you want to leave, then?"

"Maybe I shouldn't," Sergio says carefully. "What if I bump into someone? Do I have to pretend to be you? Or what if my mum calls? I can't answer the phone, I sound like you, and if I try to explain it she'll think I'm on drugs. We need to figure out what we're going to do, Iker. Even if this isn't permanent."

"We'll sort it out later," Iker bargains. He yawns, not covering his mouth. "I feel like I didn't sleep at all last night, and being you is exhausting."

"Maybe that's it!" Sergio says, suddenly excited. "We both went to sleep as ourselves and woke up each other, right? So what if we go back to sleep? Maybe we'll wake up in our own bodies again."

Iker doesn't seem to have much faith in this theory, but he shrugs and climbs into the bed anyways. "Sure thing, Sergio," he mumbles, pillow over his head. "I'm sure that'll work. I'm going to sleep. You let me know."

Sergio makes a face at his back before going to switch off the light. He can't be bothered to head back to his own room, and they all sleep together anyways. He leaves Iker's clothes on, even if it's uncomfortable, as he gets into the bed beside Iker.

It's weird. Iker rolls over, yawning once more before collapsing on top of Sergio, the way he normally does, trying to tuck his head into the crook of Sergio's neck. Sergio shift, Iker's weight a little heavy, and Iker makes a face before sitting up. Normally they fit together just right, Iker's head on Sergio's chest, Sergio's arms around Iker's body to hold him close. Now it's just uncomfortable.

"You never told me that I was uncomfortable to sleep with," Iker says, looking upset by this.

"You're not," Sergio assures him, because he isn't. Cristiano, hands down, is the worst to sleep with. He's a restless sleeper, constantly moving. Marcelo's not much better, taking up most of the bed, unconscious of the fact that he's not leaving room for anyone else. Gareth and Sergio both snore. Iker is actually the easiest to sleep with, without a doubt. "Maybe it's because…"

Iker raises his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for Sergio to finish. Instead, Sergio turns onto his side and pushes Iker back against the bed, and then he tucks his head so it's resting half on Iker's chest, half on his shoulder. Instinctively, Iker's arm goes around him, holding him tightly, and Sergio sighs.

"Better," Iker comments. "Still weird, though."

"Yeah." Sergio closes his eyes, finally comfortable, and Iker starts carding his hands through Sergio's hair. "What're you doing?"

"Sorry." Iker stops immediately, but Sergio sort of doesn't want him to. "I like it when you play with my hair, I just thought — since you're in my body, you might like it too."

Sergio tucks that piece of information away for future reference. Iker doesn't like anyone touching his hair, Sergio thought, which is why he avoids doing it most of the time. But occasionally he can't help it, and now he knows not to hold back when he wants to.

"It feels nice," he admits.

Iker keeps doing it, after that, and Sergio tries to sleep. But he can't, since all he can think about is how nice it really does feel, Iker's fingers grazing over his scalp, lightly tugging through any of the knots so it doesn't hurt Sergio, and how weird this whole situation is. Eventually Iker's fingers waver in their movements, though, stopping for a few seconds before picking up, like Iker dozed off for a moment and started up when he came back to.

Finally he stops all together, breathing evening out, and Sergio falls asleep.

*

Sergio is still in Iker's body when he wakes up. At first he's not sure, has convinced himself it was all a dream, but then he blinks open his eyes and tries to sit up, but he finds himself trapped under a body. Under his own body. And he's heavy; really heavy. How does Sergio not crush Iker on a daily basis? Because Sergio can barely breath with the way Iker's sprawled out half on top of him.

"Iker," he groans, trying to push him off. "You're crushing me."

Iker grunts, making an upset sound. Even in Sergio's body, waking Iker up is a hardship. "Shut up," he moans. "I'm sleeping."

"Iker," Sergio repeats, a little sharper.

Slowly, Iker sits up. He rubs at his eyes, glaring down at Sergio while blinking rapidly. When his gaze finally focuses, he lets out a surprised sound and nearly rolls off the bed. "Why am I still you?" he asks. "Why didn't that work?"

"I don't know," Sergio admits. "I thought it would."

Iker sighs and sits up, too, so they're facing each other. He grabs Sergio's chin, tilting it from left to right, taking a good look at himself. "I need to shave," he says. "And start plucking my eyebrows."

"There's nothing wrong with your eyebrows," Sergio tells him. "There's nothing — I mean, you're perfect. Or, um, you're fine the way you are."

Iker's face goes blank for a moment before he smiles. "You're not too bad yourself."

Sergio flushes, and it's not true. Right now, looking at himself so closely, not obscured in a picture or flipped in a mirror, there's a lot wrong with him. His nose is too big, his jaw's a little uneven. His eyes are too wide, and Sergio's eyebrows are much worse than Iker's.

"Don't," Iker scolds. "I can tell what you're thinking."

"You can read my mind now, too?" Sergio jokes weakly.

Iker continues to glare at him. "You're fine the way you are, too," Iker says. "More than fine. Wouldn't change a thing about you, Sergio. Not one damn thing. And you've got a pretty big dick, dude."

This time, Sergio doesn't flush. He's pretty sure he goes white as paper. "Iker! We agreed we weren't going to look!"

Iker shrugs. "Couldn't help it. I was curious."

Sergio buries his face in his hands. "I can't believe you."

"It was unavoidable," Iker argues. "I was already touching it; I figured the damage was already done, might as well see what you're working with. And it's not like I stood there for five minutes checking out your dick. I just kind of glanced down and, like. Okay, this is the weirdest conversation I've ever had."

"This is the weirdest situation I've ever been in," Sergio counters. "This whole thing is just — it's—"

"Fucked up," Iker finishes for him. "It's fucked up."

Sergio nods slowly, frustrated tears prickling his eyes. He hates that. He doesn't cry, Sergio. Hasn't in a really long time, but sometimes, when he's really angry or frustrated, tears well in his eyes anyways. "I'm just confused," he says, quiet and low. "I don't like being confused, and this whole thing is screwing with my head."

Iker wraps his arms tightly around Sergio, Sergio's head tucked into his chest. He's never realized before, just how comforting his own embrace is. Sergio's tattooed arms encircle Iker's slightly smaller frame easily, and their bodies just fit. They fit, like two parts of one whole, meant to be attached in some way at all times.

"We'll fix this," Iker promises. "We'll get through this, Sergio. We've been to hell and back, together. This? This is manageable."

It's sort of true. Maybe their lives are wonderful and spectacular, but they're hard. They take their toll. And each one of them, Sergio included, has had their own break down, at some point. But they deal with it. They deal with the times they screw up on the field and every gossip site makes fun of them for it the next day; they deal with the hateful things some people say about them, about each other. This may be in a whole different ball park from those things, but Iker has a point. They can handle it. They can handle anything as long as they're together.

"Okay," Sergio mumbles, pulling back.

"Do you think—" Iker cuts off, and Sergio watches a blush crawl up his neck. Sergio's always hated that about himself, the way his body shows his emotions even when he's trying not to. "Maybe if we, like, kissed, we'd turn back. Like a dumb fairy tale or something."

"Kissing," Sergio says, eyebrows rising. "You think kissing could fix this?"

Iker shrugs, looking away. "It might," he says. "And it's not like — it's not like we're doing it because we want to. It's just a theory. I don't know. It sounded like a better idea in my head."

"Right." Because Iker wouldn't want to kiss him for any other reason, obviously, and Sergio knows that. Sergio's fine with that.

"Not like it'd be the first time, anyways," Iker adds, meeting Sergio's eyes again.

Iker's lips are tilted up, just the barest hint of a smile. Sergio's mind wanders back to that time, when they were younger and Sergio's hair was long and Iker's cheeks were still a little round around the edges. When they were fooling around in a hotel room, with Cristiano and Gareth on the bed, watching something on Cristiano' laptop, and Marcelo was in the bathroom. When Iker had put Sergio in a headlock, ruffling his hair, so Sergio had tackled Iker to the ground, and then he'd — he'd kissed Iker.

It was brief and chaste and over in seconds, and then Sergio was scrambling up, climbing off him, straightening his clothes and blushing up a storm. Iker had laid there for a long time, sprawled out on the floor, propped up on his hands, lips parted in surprise. And then he'd nervously laughed, tugged a hand through his hair while he stood up.

They didn't really talk about it, much. Sergio tried to avoid it, and Iker didn't bring it up. But the one time they did let it slip into conversation, the one time neither of them avoided it, for once, they agreed that it was just an accident. A friendly accident. Not a big deal, definitely not. It didn't mean anything. They were just fooling around.

If only.

"It'd be more like kissing ourselves, too," Iker points out. "It's not like you'd be kissing me, or I'd be kissing you. We'd be kissing ourselves."

That's … true. "Do you really think that would work?"

"No," Iker admits. "Worth a try though, yeah?"

"I guess."

Iker nods, a steely look on his face. He cups Sergio's — his own— jaw again, and Sergio stays perfectly still as Iker tilts his chin, just a fraction, and kisses him.

It's the weirdest thing Sergio's ever experienced, kissing himself. His lips are a little soft, at least. They're plump and warm and just slightly wet from Iker licking at them. Sergio fits Iker's lips easily with his own, slotting together seamlessly. Right then, more than any other time since this happened, Sergio wishes they'd switch back, while they were still kissing. So he could feel Iker's lips against his own, so he could feel the way his hand cups Iker's jaw, and the way Iker's hands cling at his shoulders to keep steady.

Iker breaks the kiss, pulling back with his eyebrows furrowed. "So, uh, that didn't work," he says. "Now what?"

Sergio wipes his sweaty palms on the blanket. "I don't know. Any more bright ideas, Iker?"

Iker shoves at his shoulders, and Sergio actually tips back, nearly falling right off the bed, but Iker grabs him at the last second. "Sorry," he says quickly. "I guess I don't know your own strength."

"Funny," Sergio deadpans.

Iker opens his mouth to say something, but his phone ringing cuts him off. Sergio and him both look at the side table, where Iker's phone vibrates against the wood. Iker reaches for it, peering down at the screen. "Shit," he mutters. "It's Sara."

Sergio's eyes narrow without him even consciously deciding to do that. "You going to answer that?"

Iker looks up at him. "Can't, can I?" He chews his lip. "She'll be pissed if I ignore her, though. Do you— do you think you could, like, just answer and tell her you're busy and you'll text her instead?"

"You want me to talk to your fiancée and pretend to be you," Sergio clarifies.

"Yeah," Iker says, like this is totally rational. "Could you?"

"What would I say?" Sergio asks. "She'd know something was up."

"How would she know?" Iker argues. The phone starts ringing again. "Just answer it, Sergio! Tell her you're busy and you'll talk to her later."

Sergio snatches the phone out of Iker's hand, pressing talk. Instantly he's bombarded with a bright, sweet, annoyed, "Why didn't you answer me, love?" that sounds equal parts light and scolding, like she can't decide if she's irritated or not.

Sergio rolls his eyes. "Hey," he says, lowering his voice a bit. Iker makes a face at him so he tries again, but this time he can't help it. If Iker's making him do this, Sergio's not taking it seriously. "What’s up babe?"

He hears Sara's pleasant laugh, followed by, "Someone's in a good mood."

"Great mood," Sergio says. "I'm talking to you, aren't I?"

The amount of sarcasm in Sergio's tone is not lost on Iker, who frowns at him, arms crossed over his chest. Sergio ignores it.

"Okay," Sara says slowly. "Are you alright?"

"I'm brilliant."

"Tell her you have to go," Iker mouths. "Do it, Sergio. Now."

"How about you, sugar pie?" Sergio asks. "How are you doing, babe?"

"I'm… good," Sara says. "Are you sure you're okay? You're being weird. Are you drunk? Did you fight with Sergio?"

Sergio blinks in surprise, losing the mocking tone when he asks, "What would that have to do with anything?"

"You know how you get when the two of you don’t talk for a while," she sighs. "You're always off afterwards. So? Did something happen? Do I need to fly out there and kick his muscular butt for upsetting you again?"

"Um." Sergio looks away from Iker, who looks ready to throttle him. "No, I'm fine. Sorry. I'm a little busy right now, though. Can I text you instead?"

"Sure," Sara says immediately. "He's there with you, isn't he?"

"Uh— yeah."

Sara exhales loudly. "Of course he is," she says. "You know, the two of you should really just— never mind. You know where I stand on this subject. You better text me. Love you."

"Yeah. Bye." Sergio hangs up on her, not returning the sentiment.

Iker tugs the phone back, looking livid. "What the hell was that?" he demands. "Was that you trying to be funny? Because it wasn't, Sergio."

Sergio rolls his eyes. "Calm down. It was just a joke."

Iker glares at him for a beat longer, before a nervous look flashes in his eyes. "What did she, uh, say? Did she— did she say anything about, like…?"

"She asked if you were okay, and then, I don't know. We hung up right afterwards." Sergio's not sure why he's lying, but that conversation with Sara kind of threw him off. Iker told her about their fights? Maybe it's not that weird, Sergio rationalizes.

"Whatever," Iker grumbles. "I'm going to see Marcelo."

"Are you really upset about this?" Sergio asks, as Iker climbs out of bed, trying to smooth out the wrinkles in his clothes.

Iker chooses to ignore that question. In fact, he chooses to ignore Sergio until he's out the door, shutting it between them. Sergio sighs. Of course them getting along again was short lived. It's like all they do is fight anymore, and, once again, it's all Sergio's fault because he can't keep his jealousy at bay.

And he hates it. He hates hurting Iker more than anything in the world, possibly. Never wants to upset him, if he can help it. But this is the one instance where he can't help it. Where his emotions are too strong for him to control them.

Basically, when it comes to Iker and Sara, Sergio is an asshole.

*

Adaptable. It's a good word to describe the life of a football player, Sergio thinks. After everything, they're all adaptable. They all adapted to being put in a new and different team. And, as weird as it is, the body switch between Iker and Sergio is just another thing that he has accepted and adapted to.

For the most part.

Sergio is still kind of thrown by the whole thing, rightfully, but he's not freaking out anymore. There was a moment, yesterday, just before he'd gotten in the shower when he stopped, turning to the mirror and — He still feels guilty about that, but he didn't really look, he sort of just… grazed over Iker's form in the mirror, completely naked, before flushing in guilt and embarrassment and climbing into the shower. But, aside from that, Sergio thinks he's taking this whole thing pretty well.

That was the easy part, though. Accepting it that was easy. This interview? Not so easy.

"Congratulations, by the way, Iker," the interviewer says, "on the engagement."

She's pretty, long blonde hair, even longer legs. And she's smiling pointedly at Sergio, her lips heavily glossed in a pretty pink colour. And Sergio barely even registers how attractive she is. That's been an issue for a while, being able to find other people attractive. Because, yes, she's pretty. Yes, her accent is kind of hot. Is she Iker, though? No, and honestly, no one compares to Iker.

"Thanks," Iker says automatically, and Sergio nods along until Cristiano coughs. "I mean—"

"Thank you," Sergio stutters. "Thanks."

"Thank you," Marcelo adds, probably so it doesn't seem too obvious, what just happened. "We're all very excited."

"All of you?" the interviewer says, going along with it.

"We're a package deal," Cristiano puts in. "Marry one of us, marry the entire Real Madrid Squad. Not sure Sara knows what she's gotten herself into."

The interviewer laughs, but it's kind of put on, like it's what she's expected to do, not because she actually found that funny. "Iker," she says, steering the attention back to Sergio, "could you tell us a bit about the engagement itself? How did you do it?"

Sergio nearly rolls his eyes, but he realizes what he's about to do and represses it. But, fuck, he hates all the engagement talk normally, and now that he's Iker he has to actively participate in talking about it. And none of them prepared for this, he thinks. They should have. They should have exchanged notes on what to say if certain questions were brought up, because Sergio has no damn idea how Iker asked Sara to marry him.

"I just, um, asked her," Sergio says. "And she said yes."

Nacho snorts and Cristiano says, "Wow, how romantic."

"Were you nervous?" the interviewer (Sergio is 70% sure her name is Amy) asks.

"Not really," Sergio says without thinking. He's irritated, and he wants this line of questioning to stop. "Don't really see why I would be," he adds. What would Iker have to be nervous about? Is there really anyone out there who would say no if Iker Casillas asked them to marry him?

Well, maybe Beyoncé, but that's probably it.

"You weren't scared of her saying no?" Amy asks.

"Oh, totally," Sergio says, and this time the eye roll happens even though he tries not to. "That would have been horrible, right? Like, worst thing ever. I'm so glad that didn't happen."

Silence follows Sergio's words, and Iker is sitting stock straight, eyes glazed over, hands discreetly clenched. Sergio winces, realizing what he's done.

"I— I mean, yeah, I was worried," Sergio quickly says. "It… it would have crushed me if she said no. I love her, right, and. Yeah, it would have been the worst thing to happen to me if she said no. I don't know what I'd have done."

Iker swallows, dropping his gaze, and Sergio lets out a sigh of relief as the interviewer coos. "That's adorable," she says. "Now, I was wondering…."

Sergio sinks lower in his seat, chewing on his bottom lip. The one good thing about being Iker is that, after the engagement questions are done and over with, no one looks surprised when he silently sits there. That's how Iker is, depending on his day, on the mood. Sometimes he'll get rowdy, get crazy and make a scene and laugh, throaty and genuine, joking with Cristiano and Sergio. Other times he'll silently sit there, let everyone else field the questions while he sighs at some of the dumber answers and basically looks bored with everything.

That's what Sergio's doing as Cristiano takes control of the interview, answering nearly every question, even the ones aimed at Iker and Sergio.

After the interview, when they're all backstage, Sergio gets a bottle of water for himself and Cristiano hisses, "What the fuck happened back there?"

There are people around, most of them with headsets on. Several of them look at Cristiano for the vehemence in his tone, and that's just what they need, isn't it? Some big article on players of the Real Madrid Squad fighting backstage after an interview.

"At the hotel," Cristiano says, realizing this. Sergio nods, and Iker nods, and Gareth helps himself to a donut.

*

Cristiano is pinching the bridge of his nose, standing in the middle of Marcelo's hotel room, looking ready to throw something at one of them. Marcelo sits on his bed, one leg pulled up underneath him. And Iker and Sergio are both standing, looking a bit scolded.

"One of you," Cristiano says, "needs to explain what the fuck happened back there."

"Don't really know what you're talking about, mate," Iker says with a shrug. "Anyone know what he's talking about?"

Marcelo makes a face at him. "Iker," he says. That's it, and Iker's shoulders slump a bit, a pout crossing his lips.

"It wasn't that big of a deal," Sergio puts in. "I don't think anyone even noticed."

"You don't think anyone noticed?" Cristiano snaps. "You don't think anyone noticed the fact that you made a mockery of Iker's engagement. You really don't think anyone noticed that? Well thank fucking god, we can all sleep easily tonight. I'm not trying to go off on anyone," Cristiano says, which is the biggest lie ever. Cristiano loves to go off on them. "I just think that maybe we should all prepare for the next time we go out in public. Starting with the two of you learning not to answer to your own names."

"I've been Sergio a day," Iker says. "I've been Iker my whole life. Kind of hard not to respond to it."

"We'll work on that," Cristiano says. "And Sergio — when someone brings up the engagement, try not to look like you just sat on a cactus, maybe?"

"Seriously," Iker adds. "What's your problem, Sergio?"

"I don't have a problem," Sergio says quickly.

"You've got a problem," Marcelo says.

Sergio crosses his arms over his chest, backing up until he hits the door. He feels ganged up on, all of a sudden, and he hates it. It's like being on the outside all over again, like he was in the beginning, when he was quiet and reserved and the others all clicked so easily. It's like the four of them are together, and Sergio's not with them. He hates that feeling.

"I don't have a problem," he repeats. "I don't."

"Okay," Cristiano says, softening a bit. "You don't have a problem, so try to act like you don't. Maybe smile, talk about how much you like Sara's face or something, I don't know."

"I can do that," Sergio promises, hoping to end this conversation. "I will."

"That's settled, then," Marcelo says. "I'm going to eat and shower before we head out. You want to come Iker?"

"Yeah, I'm coming."

The two of them leave once Sergio's moved from in front of the door, leaving Cristiano and Sergio alone. Sergio sighs and goes to lie on Marcelo's bed. Cristiano sticks to the floor, sitting at the end, tugging off Sergio's shoes for him. "How're you feeling, by the way?" he asks while he does. "I forgot to ask you that."

Sergio shrugs. "I'm dealing."

Cristiano pauses, looking up at him with those damn blue eyes. Cristiano' eyes are deathly. Sometimes they're mischievous and bright, but sometimes they're narrowed and sharp as a blade carved from ice. And sometimes they seem to see through Sergio better than anything else. "I don't mean just with the body swap thing," he says. "I mean, how are you feeling about switching with Iker specifically?"

Shrugging seems like the only appropriate answer, so he does it again. "It's definitely not easy," he admits. "And it's like — I don't know. It's not helping what was already a bad situation, let's just say that."

"You're really fucked over the engagement, aren't you?"

Sergio's face twists into a pained, tight lipped smile. "I think it's great, actually."

Cristiano snorts. "You're a horrible liar."

"What do you want me to say, then?" Sergio demands. "That I want him to be happy, I want him to be happy so bad, but it destroys me that he's happy with someone else? That I love him, and the fact that he loves someone else feels like someone's reaching into my stomach and twisting everything inside?"

"Sergio."

"Being in love sucks, Cristiano," Sergio says. "It's the worst thing to ever happen to me. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Cristiano sighs at him. "No, Sergio, it's not."

"I just want my body back," Sergio groans. He flops back against the bed, staring up at the ceiling. "And I want to be able to be happy for him without secretly hating him for doing this, but I can't."

"You can't tell him that," Cristiano says gently. "You know that, right? You can't do that to him. It'll kill him."

"I know that," Sergio snaps.

"I know you do," Cristiano says. "Do you want to shave off all his hair? Would that make you feel better?"

"No." Sergio defensively runs a hand through Iker's hair. "No way."

"So the vanity is in his DNA, too, I see. It's not just his personality."

Sergio sits up, rolling his eyes. "I think Iker's shoulders are actually wider than mine," he muses. "Do they look wider than mine? My arms are bigger but I think his shoulders are —" Sergio lifts his arms. "I don't know. They feel wider, but I feel thinner, too."

"Anything else of his wider than yours?" Cristiano asks, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "You take a peek at what's going on down there yet, or what?"

"No." Of course Cristiano is the one to go there. "I haven't."

"You've thought about it, though," Cristiano guesses. "And you've went to the bathroom, right? So you've, like, you've touched Iker's dick, Sergio. You're living the dream, mate."

"Shut up," Sergio laughs. "Christ. Do you want to touch his dick?"

"Sometimes." Cristiano shrugs. "Want to go get dinner before we join the rest of the team?"

"Yeah, just let me change. This shirt is really wrinkled."

*

Getting back to the hotel after their night out is a little difficult. There are fans converged outside now, and it's dark and he doesn’t see anything at all. Blindly, he signs as many things as he can while grinning at fans. He realized that a lot of them looked at him weirdly, but he figures that’s just because they had never seen him tipsy before.

Or maybe, Sergio realizes when he gets inside, it's not how he was acting that's throwing everyone off. It could possibly be the fact that he signed everything with Sergio Ramos instead of Iker Casillas. That might be it. Shit.

When they finally get inside, Cristiano grabs Sergio roughly by the shoulder and kisses his cheek. "Nice knowing you, Sergio."

Sergio frowns, goes to ask him why he'd say that, when Iker stomps towards them. Iker and a few others of the Squad had come back earlier to get a good rest before the match tomorrow.

"What and how much did you drink?" he demands. "You went out in public like that?"

"It was just for a laugh and to relax before the game tomorrow."

"At my expense," Iker growls. "I can't believe you actually—" He stops, shaking his head. "You want a war, babe?"

"What? No, I was just—"

"Just remember," Iker says, leaning in close, "you started this."

If that isn't the most ominous thing Sergio's ever heard, he's not sure what is. Iker is actually grinning as he backs away from Sergio, that same look in his eyes that Cristiano had, and Sergio realizes the mistake he's made. Cristiano can be a crazy whirlwind, which is one of the reasons Sergio (and most people) avoid upsetting him. You don't want to get on Cristiano' bad side, because that could mean a few harsh choice words, or waking up with a moldy sandwich in your bed three weeks after it's happened.

And Iker is just as bad, when he wants to be. Sergio forgets that, sometimes. Forgets that Cristiano and Iker are like a tag team of mischief, when they want to be, and Sergio just dug his own grave.

Sergio doesn't have time to dwell on it, though.

He was in the elevator with Marcelo and Cristiano when it finally struck him.

“Guys, we have a game tomorrow. I can’t play as a goal keeper. What are we going to do?”

"Don't worry," Marcelo says. "I've already figured out how we're going to deal with that."

"You have?"

Marcelo nods. "We're just going to tell the rest of the team and Zidane that you and Iker're switching positions, that's all. Everyone'll love it."

Sergio isn't so sure, but it's not like they've got any choice, is it?

*

It's not horrible. It's not good, either. Sergio's aware of it (even if they might have the team fooled. The way Cristiano nervously watches Iker and Sergio the whole night, like he's expecting something bad to happen.

But they make it through, and Sergio thinks they did better than expected, at least. At the end they even won, so they really can’t complain that much.

Sergio's breathing heavily, grabbing at a bottle of water. Iker's body gets out of breath faster than Sergio is used to. He hadn't done all that much, had he? But it feels like he'd overworked himself, like the few times when he worked out and pushed himself farther than he should have, and he really regretted it the next day when everything was stiff and hurting.

"Do you think we did okay?" Iker asks him. He steals Sergio's drink and downs half of it before handing it back. "Think we fooled them?"

"I don't know," Sergio admits. "Maybe?"

Iker nods, accepting this. "It's weird, you know? Like, seeing my body running around on the field, scoring goals. But I was still able to realize that it was you.”

He looks away, biting at his bottom lip. "I think you could switch bodies with anyone and I'd still be able to tell it's you."

Sergio sips his drink to hide how he feels about that, because he feels the exact same way. Iker is still Iker, whether he's in Sergio's body or not, and Sergio thinks that he'd always recognize Iker, always. Like one of those stories where two lovers die and are reincarnated and they still manage to find each other, recognizing each other on a deeper level, more than just on the surface.

Which is cheesy as hell, so Sergio pretends he didn't think that.

"We should head out," he says.

Iker nods. "Do you want to come to my room, though?”

"Okay," Sergio agrees.

When they get back to the hotel, Sergio goes and showers. He's still sweaty and gross, even though he had already showered at the stadium and it needs to be done. He riffles through Iker's bag of clothes and gives up, searching through his own that Iker had left behind to find a pair of sweats and a clean t-shirt before he heads into the bathroom.

Just like he had earlier, Sergio avoids looking in the mirror as he gets undressed, and then at the last second he looks. It's too tempting not to, the expanse of skin he can see in the mirror out the corner of his eyes. Sergio's trying not to be a creep, he really is, but Iker's so enticing. The curve of his skinny thighs. Sergio lets his gaze drop lower than Iker's face, over his bare chest. He lifts a hand, outlines the lips, wonders what it'd feel like to press his own flush against them.

His gaze goes a little lower. Iker's always been thinner than him. He used to have a little belly, though, sticking out just a bit, but now that's gone. His stomach is all flat and smooth skin. And he's got these perfect indents there, ones that Sergio can't help but fit his fingers into, just because.

Lower, and Sergio swallows, looking away. Only he doesn't look away fast enough. His eyes fall lower than Iker's cock and the thick, dark hair at the base of it. He studiously avoids looking in that area as much as he can, instead focusing on what caught his attention. It was only when he moved, left leg in front of his right, that he'd seen it, and now he looks down, bending Iker's leg so it rests on the edge of the tub so he can get a better look.

On the inside of Iker's left thigh, high up, is a small, barely noticeable tattoo.

The first thing that goes through Sergio's mind is that it must be, like, dirt or something. He licks his thumb and smudges at it, but it doesn't budge. The second thing Sergio thinks is that there's no way Iker actually got a tattoo there. It's so — it's in a really intimate spot, and he can't imagine someone touching Iker there. He can’t imagine Iker, who has no tattoos at all, having a tattoo in such a spot. It is a tattoo, though. Small, blocky, navy blue: S. It's an 'S'. There's no mistaking it.

Sergio lets Iker's leg drop, tearing his eyes away with reluctance as he climbs into the shower. What does it mean? An 'S'. S for what? It must be Sara. But a little voice of hope inside of him told him that it might not be her name.

But Sergio can't even ask him to be sure, is the thing. How would he bring it up? "So, Iker, while I was checking you out in the mirror because I'm a creepy pervert who's in love with you, I noticed that you had this tattoo, and I was wondering what it meant?" Because that would definitely not be awkward.

Sergio groans at himself and reaches for the soap. There's not much to think about, though, aside from the tattoo and the fact that he's currently soaping up Iker's body. That, and Iker's reflection in the mirror from earlier flipping through his mind, is enough to get Sergio a little heated, and he can feel himself getting harder as the minutes tick by, standing under the hot stream of water. It's not like he can do anything about it, though, can he?

Sergio adds that to the sealed box of things he's not going to think about. Despite that, when he gets out of the shower his problem is still a problem. Sergio bites his lip, seriously considers doing something about it, but instead he avoids looking in the mirror and pulls on his sweatpants, ignoring the way the semi he's sporting tents the crotch a bit.

And since Sergio's life isn't enough of a joke as it is, Iker is on the bed when Sergio comes out. He grins, sitting up, and lets out a chuckled, "Took you long enough. What were you doing in there, jerking off?

As soon as he's said it, they both freeze. Iker goes red, while Sergio's eyes widen. He has no doubt that Iker's probably thinking about the fact that Sergio could have been, and Sergio's definitely thinking about the fact that he'd been considering it. That, and they're both probably painfully aware that if he had been jerking off, he'd technically jerking Iker off and—

If Sergio masturbates in Iker's body, is that the same as giving Iker a hand job? Sergio is so confused.

"I wasn't," Sergio says quickly. "I definitely wasn't, I swear."

Iker nods, eyes on the comforter of the hotel bed instead of meeting Sergio's gaze. "I know you weren't. I was just kidding."

"Why are you in my room, anyways? How'd you get in here?"

"Technically it's my room," Iker answers.

Sergio takes his first good look at Iker. There are dark smudges underneath Sergio's brown eyes, and he looks almost hollow and gaunt. There's a pinched, tense set to his mouth, and a flat look in his eyes. All in all, he looks the way Sergio does when he's just getting better from being sick; exhausted, pale and weak.

"You okay?" Sergio asks. "You look like hell, Iker."

Iker snorts a laugh. "Way to insult yourself," he says. "I'm fine."

"Iker."

"What?" Iker snaps. He rubs his hands on his thighs. “I’m just tired from the game.”

Sergio goes and sits on the bed, too. He pulls one leg up under him, resting his hand on his ankle. Iker's ankle. It's bony and smooth, and he brushes his thumb over it for a moment, feeling the knobs of the bones. "We should probably talk about what we can and can't do in each other's bodies," he muses. "For future reference. If we're stuck like this for a long time, it's probably best to know where the lines are."

"Like going out to get Manuel Neuer’s signature tattooed on ourselves or something," Iker jokes. Sergio's eyes widen. "I wouldn't do that," Iker says quickly. "I won't do anything to permanently disfigure you."

"Okay," Sergio says, relieved. "No tattoos, first rule. Of anything, anywhere."

"Deal."

"Um." Sergio licks at his lips. "What else?"

This look flits over Iker's eyes, just for a moment. It's gone before Sergio can figure out what it is. "No fucking anyone in my body, Sergio. Anyone. At all."

"I wasn't planning on it," Sergio says, and now that he thinks about it, his stomach twists. "Same for you. No— no anything, with anyone. Please."

Iker nods. "But what if this last for a long time?" he asks. "What if it doesn't go away in a few days? I'm just saying, we're both… we're going to, like, eventually want to… you know."

"No," Sergio says honestly. "I really don't."

Iker groans. "Are you really going to make me say it out loud?" Sergio gives him a blank look. "Eventually we're going to want to get off, Sergio."

Oh. Oh. "Right."

"So." Iker shrugs. "I don't know, I guess—"

A knock at the door interrupts him. Sergio gives Iker a look, waiting for him to answer it because it is his room, technically, but then the knocking intensifies, loud and sharp. Sergio gets up, knowing exactly who it is, which is why he isn't surprised at all when Cristiano pushes into the room.

"Are you coming? The entire team wants to go celebrate our win!"

Iker yawns, shaking his head. "I'm tired."

"You're always tired," Cristiano says. "Alert the fucking media. Come on, let's go, I want to go out."

"Then go," Iker suggests. He falls back against the bed, covering his face with his arm. "I'm too tired to party."

Cristiano raises his eyebrows. "Sergio?"

Sergio could use a good, fun night out, but… "Is getting wasted on the list of things we can do or on the list of things we can't do in each other's bodies?"

Iker doesn't even lift his head. "Go ahead," he says with a wave of his hand. "Don't do anything stupid. But if I wake up back in my own body tomorrow with a hangover, I'm going to be an asshole all day."

*

"I've been thinking," Cristiano says, which is never a good thing, but is made even worse by the three empty shot glasses in front of him, "about his whole body switcher thingy."

Sergio reaches for his own shot. It takes a little less to get Iker drunk, he's realizing. Right now, he'd normally be tipsy, but in Iker's body he's already feeling foggy and unbalanced and unbelievably loose and relaxed. "And?" he prompts.

"At first I thought maybe it was because you two have been fighting a lot, right? Like that movie that— that they switch bodies, or whatever," Cristiano says. "Like all of the movies where that happens, actually. People are always fighting, and that's why they switch. But what if that's not it?"

"Then what would it be?" Sergio asks, because he'd figured that was exactly why. He and Iker were bickering, they switched bodies and— it already has sort of stopped the fighting, a bit. Not completely, but that's mostly because Cristiano was right; Sergio's bitter and jealous, and he can't help it. But aside from that, he and Iker have actually been getting on well again, and he's happy about that.

"What if it's because you're in love with him?" Cristiano muses. "What if it's, like, divine intervention. Fate trying to tell you both that there's, like, a connection there between you. What if this is a sign that you two are meant to be together?"

Sergio looks at him blankly for a long time before reaching for another shot. It burns all the way down, and he likes it. "That's definitely not it."

"Why not?" Cristiano demands. "Why can't that be it?"

"Because he's getting married, Cristiano," Sergio snaps. "There's no … fate trying to push us together. He's getting married, and there's nothing I can do about it."

"But that's the thing," Cristiano says, impatiently slapping his hand against Sergio's thigh. "You can! You have all the power to do that! You're in his body, Sergio. You could call it off! Tell Sara you can't do it, tell the press you're not ready! You can do something about it."

Sergio makes a face, eyes darting around the club. They're in a secluded, mostly blocked off area. There's security around, nervously watching everyone that gets too close. It's a little boring, Sergio thinks. He wants to be out in the crowd, enjoying himself, drunk and definitely not thinking about Iker or anyone else.

"I can't do that," Sergio says. "I could never do that to him."

Cristiano sighs. "Yeah, I know. I figured. I just thought… I don't know." He tilts his head onto Sergio's shoulder. "I just want you both to be happy at the same time. I want you both to be happy together."

Another shot for Sergio. "So do I."

"Let's go dance," Cristiano mutters. "This is killing my buzz."

Sergio lets Cristiano lead him out of the booth, knowing that it's only a matter of time before a member of their security carts them off to somewhere a little less threatening, like any of the people in the club are a danger to them. At the most they'll get hit on by pushy girls who can't take no for an answer, or have a few unflattering pictures taken. Sergio honestly doesn't see the big deal.

But that doesn't happen, actually. He and Cristiano dance, they get more drinks, the lights start blurring together and Sergio can't think anymore. His thoughts are blissfully muted by alcohol, and it's like a weight being lifted off his shoulders.

Until he stumbles and nearly cracks his head on the dance floor. After that they are carted off, stuffed none-too-gently into the back of a car. Sergio leans against Cristiano this time, and Cristiano hums under his breath, something that sounds a lot like Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.

"He's got a tattoo," Sergio says suddenly, just remembering. He sits up, looking at Cristiano with wide eyes. "He's got a tattoo, Cristiano."

"Really? Where? I’ve never seen it before." Cristiano states.

Sergio rolls his eyes. "It’s obviously a hidden one." He spreads his legs, touching the inside of his thigh. "Right here."

Cristiano' lips curl into a smirk. "You've been looking between his legs now, have you?"

Sergio flushes. "Not— not on purpose, I just sort of noticed and couldn't help myself."

"I know, babe." Cristiano pats his arm consolingly. "You're far too respectful to really take advantage of the situation you're in. Now, what is it of, hmm?"

"An 'S'," Sergio says. "It's just an 'S'."

"Like the letter?"

"No, like the number."

"Once again, give me back not-sassy Sergio, I liked him better," Cristiano grumbles. "An 'S'. Huh."

"What do you think it means?" Sergio asks. "I've been trying to figure it out, but I don't know. Could mean anything, right? It's so random. I mean it obviously leads to Sara but I don’t think Iker’d do something like this. But I don’t know." He groans. "Why does Iker have to be the most confusing person ever?"

"He's really not," Cristiano says, head cocked to the side. "Iker is the least confusing person I've ever met, in fact."

"So then—"

"There's only two people I can think of that Iker knows who's name starts with an 'S' that he cares about enough to get a tattoo in tribute to them," Cristiano says pointedly. "And it's sure as fuck not Sara’s initial tattooed on the inside of his thigh, babe."

It takes Sergio a moment to get what Cristiano is implying. "Why?" he asks. "If that's really it, why would he do that?"

Cristiano shrugs, closing his eyes. "Divine intervention," he says again. "Fate. I'm telling you, it's meant to be, Sergio. Now, could you be a doll and ask the driver to pull over? I'd like to throw up."

Sergio does, and Cristiano leans out the car while Sergio looks away but rubs soothingly at his back. Cristiano is mostly useless as they stumble into the hotel, and Sergio doesn't feel much better, but at least Iker's body holds his alcohol pretty well. He doesn't feel like throwing up, but he does feel unsteady and very, very drunk.

When they get to their floor, Cristiano heads off for Toni’s and Gareth’s shared room, probably to pass out. Sergio heads back to his and Marcelo’s, for the exact same reason. But before entering his eyes flicker to the other door, the one where Iker was staying, all alone now because Cristiano went to Toni’s and Gareth’s and so he goes and knocks on that door.

Iker is awake and opens him the door, which throws Sergio off a little. Iker said he was tired, didn't he? So why is he still awake?

"Wanted to make sure you got my body back in one piece," Iker says when he walks in the door.

Sergio looks down at himself. "Oh, right." He'd almost forgotten. "I'm going to bed."

Iker chuckles. "Is that really what I look like when I'm wasted? That's embarrassing."

"No," Sergio assures him while stripping off his shirt. "You look good always, promise."

He falls into bed beside Iker, jostling him a bit, and cuddles up to him. It's annoying, though, that it's his own body he's cuddling with. He wants Iker's thin arms around him, not his own. He wants Iker's gentle, soft hands carding through his hair, not his own. He wants Iker's lips on his hairline, not his own.

"Always?" Iker prompts. "You think I always look good?"

"You know you do," Sergio mumbles. "You're perfect. It's a fact."

"Yeah, you definitely need to sleep."

"Mhm," Sergio agrees. He closes his eyes and sighs, nuzzling just a bit into Iker's side to get more comfortable. "Can I ask you something, though?" he says before he falls asleep.

"Sure."

"What's with the tattoo?" he asks. "The— the one on your, uh…"

Sergio thinks his breath might hitch, for just a second. He could just be imagining it, though.

"The 'S'."

"Goodnight, Sergio," Iker says firmly.

Sergio sighs. "I'm going to figure it out eventually, you know," he says, a little petulant, a little defiant. "I will."

Iker's thumb brushes his cheek. "I sincerely hope you do, babe. I really do."

What does that mean? But Sergio's eyelids are too heavy, the fog in his mind is too thick, and he's too tired to stay awake any longer.

*

Sergio wakes up to Iker lying half on him again, only this time it's different. This time Iker's a little breathless, his eyes are closed, his mouth is hanging open and he's — he's hard. Sergio can feel it against his hip, unmistakable, and when Iker's hips jerk forward, just a bit, any doubt in his mind dissipates.

Sergio isn't sure what to do. If he moves, Iker will wake up, which would be awkward. Iker would realize why Sergio had moved, he'll get embarrassed, and Sergio would rather avoid that. But then his only other option is to… what? Pretend to be asleep until the problem goes away?

That's exactly what he's planning on doing, but Iker's eyes slowly bat open and he groans. "Shit," he says. "Shit, Sergio, I'm sorry."

Iker rolls off him, falling with his back flat against the bed. He stares up at the ceiling, cheeks red, and Sergio takes pity on him. "It's fine, really. Happens to everyone."

"Not when they're in their best friend's body, though," Iker grumbles. He rubs a hand over his face, wincing. "I hate this. And I'm fucking horny, but I can't even do anything about it."

"Right," Sergio says awkwardly, trying not think about it because the more he does, the more it gets to him, thinking about Iker wrapping a hand around Sergio's cock and— Sergio turns his head, praying that the blankets hide the fact that Iker's not the only one with a hard on.

"Wait." Iker props himself up on one arm, hovering over Sergio a bit. "Is wanking on the list of things we can't do in each other's bodies?"

Sergio really, really misses shy Iker. The one who barely talked during interviews because he was scared of saying the wrong thing. The one who never would have discussed something like this with him. But then at the same time he doesn't, because he loves the fact that Iker's comfortable enough with him to not filter himself or worry about getting embarrassed. He just wishes that this kind of conversation didn't get to him the way it does.

"It'd be sort of weird, wouldn't it?" Sergio says. "I mean, it'd be like — getting each other off, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah," Iker agrees, but he doesn't fall back against the bed. He keeps looking down at Sergio, face an emotionless mask. "But what if it's like the kissing thing? What if — if we do each other, it's like doing ourselves, isn't it? When we kissed, we weren't kissing each other, we were kissing ourselves. It'd be sort of the same thing."

Is he seriously suggesting what Sergio thinks he's suggesting? That really shouldn't turn Sergio on as much as it does. "You want us to…?" He doesn't finish that but he doesn't think he really needs to.

"Never mind." Iker finally lies back down, looking away from Sergio, embarrassed.

Sergio doesn't think. He moves his hand under the blanket and searches for Iker's thigh. Sergio watches as Iker closes his eyes, sucking in a deep breath, and he moves his hand higher up. He knows his body well enough, has done this to himself enough times over the years.

Sergio carefully massages Iker through the material of his sweatpants, and Iker's eyes stay squeezed closed. It's a little hard to get his hand inside the sweatpants, but he manages, wrapping a hand around Iker — himself, technically. He gives a few experimental tugs, just to see, and Iker's lips part soundlessly.

"Sergio," Iker says, sounding almost desperate.

Sergio pushes the sweatpants down just enough to get more comfortable, and then he works Iker over easily, knowing exactly how his body likes to be touched. Tight grip, moving fast, short jerks until his body twitches. When Iker moans, Sergio slows down a little, drags it out just enough. That's how he does it to himself, teases just until he can't take it anymore, so that's what he does to Iker. When Iker's hips finally push him up into Sergio's hand, Sergio speeds up his movements again, twisting his wrist the way he likes.

When Sergio pushes the blankets down, getting a little too hot, Iker's eyes finally open, just for a second. He glances down to where Sergio's got a hand around him, and then he's coming with a shudder and a muffled sound.

Sergio releases him, considers wiping his hand on the blanket but thinks the better of it. He heads for the bathroom, cleaning his own come off Iker's fingers while studiously avoiding the mirror, because he knows he's still hard and he doesn't want to look at his reflection, see Iker a sleepy, disheveled, turned on mess because that'll only make it worse.

The bathroom door cracks, and Iker comes in, coming right up to Sergio who turns off the tap and wipes his wet hands on his sweatpants. Iker puts his arms around Sergio from behind, and Sergio tenses for a second until Iker slides a hand up, over his throat, tipping his head up to look in the mirror.

Just as he'd thought, there's a heat in his cheeks that's reflected in Iker's face. His hair is a mess, too, standing up everywhere in dark strands, but that's not really what he focuses on. Instead he focuses on the picture the two of them make, because that might be Iker in Sergio's body, and Sergio might be in Iker's, but he still likes the way they look together. Likes the way his arms fit properly around Iker's middle, the contrast of Iker's sharper, thinner cheekbones and Sergio's wider jaw.

Iker snakes his hand lower, groping Sergio through the sweats he's wearing, and just like when they were kissing, Sergio would give anything for them to switch back right now. But apparently he doesn't get a say in it, so he bites down on his lip and focuses on enjoying the way Iker's hand expertly pushes into his sweats, gripping him loosely.

Iker strokes him slowly, meticulously, a kind of focused look on his face. But Sergio's not watching the faces Iker makes in the mirror. He's too busy watching his own, because Iker looks so good with his lips bitten and swollen and parted slightly in pleasure.

Sergio doesn't think before he reaches a hand down and shoves the sweatpants away until they're pooled at his ankles, and Iker doesn't stop him, either. And this time Sergio doesn't feel guilty about looking down, about watching the way his own hand slowly moves over Iker's cock, faltering every once in a while because Iker swipes his thumb over the head, and Sergio's knees shake.

"Good?" Iker asks, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

"Yeah," Sergio admits. This is probably fucked up, on some level, but — yeah, it feels good. It feels really, really fucking good.

"I know what my body likes," Iker says, grinning against Sergio's neck. "Do you trust me?"

"You— you know I do," Sergio gasps out, because Iker speeds up a bit, just enough to make Sergio feel unsteady and too hot.

Iker's freehand comes up, thumb brushing over Sergio's lips until he prods at them with his forefinger. "Suck," Iker orders. Sergio gives him a look in the mirror, confused and questioning, and Iker adds, "I know what I like, babe, trust me. I'll make you feel good, yeah?"

So Sergio parts his lips and Iker pushes two fingers into his mouth. Sergio licks at them, all while watching their reflection, thinking about how good Iker looks with Sergio's fingers in his mouth, stretching it wide, and — fuck, yeah, that's hotter than it should be.

Iker's fingers disappear, and Sergio shuts his mouth, tongue pressing against the back of his lips. They tingle, but he doesn't even notice it a moment later because Iker's got his slick fingers down between Sergio's cheeks, sliding against his hole and — oh. Sergio closes his eyes for a moment, lost in it. Iker's hand continues to work him over, but he's going slow, like he knows Sergio will come if he speeds up. And he's circling Sergio's entrance with a single finger before pushing it in.

And all Sergio can think about is what Iker said. I know what I like. Which means he's done this before, either to himself or had someone else. That knowledge, coupled with the fact that Iker's brushing over something inside of him that makes Sergio tremble, and the fact that he's tightened his grip and is stroking Sergio fast and expertly, is all it takes. Sergio comes before he even realizes it's happening, eyes locked on his face in the mirror, trapped in the way Iker's features twist in the waves of his orgasm, mouth open in a strangled moan.

"Told you to trust me," Iker says, smirking.

Sergio grips the counter tightly, chest heaving. Sergio's coming down, down, down, crashing when he hits the ground. "Fuck," he mutters. "Did we just—?"

Iker's face goes carefully blank. He shoulders Sergio out of the way as he cleans himself up. "Yeah, we did. And I thought you wanted it."

"I did," Sergio says quickly. "It's just — what even was that?"

Iker shrugs. "That was like jerking off, just with two people." He looks down. "You didn't touch me, and I didn't touch you. Technically we touched ourselves, so don't worry, Sergio, I don't think this constitutes as me cheating on my fiancée with you, if that's what you look so upset about."

Sergio hadn't even considered that. But now that Iker's said it, he's pretty sure it does, actually. Maybe in a really fucked up way, but he's confident that what just happened would be considered cheating. And now, more than ever, Sergio is so desperately confused.

Out in the room, a phone rings. It's not his, not his ringtone, and Iker jerks his head up. "Shit," he mumbles. "I think that's Sara again."

"I'm not answering it for you," Sergio says flatly. He's still shaky from what just happened, and now he's noticing the pain in his head, probably from what he'd had to drink last night. "I'm too tired."

"I didn't think you would," Iker says. "You should probably…" He trails off, rolling his eyes before bending down and pulling up Sergio's sweats for him. "Might not be your body, but you could try to have some common decency for my sake, maybe?"

"Sorry," Sergio says automatically.

Iker shoots him a look before disappearing out the door. Sergio goes and closes it, and this time he locks it, blocking Iker out. And then he sits on the toilet, head in his hands, and tries to figure out what the fuck is going on here.

He can't.

*

"Are you avoiding him?" Cristiano asks.

Sergio tilts his head, looking over at Cristiano. Cristiano was sitting next to him while they were driving to their next hotel for their next match.

"Avoiding who?" he asks, innocent as one can sound when they're in Iker Casillas's body.

"Don't pull that shit," Cristiano warns. "You've lost your puppy eyes, Sergio. It's not as effective. You can't pout your way out of this one. Why the hell are you avoiding Iker?"

Sergio swats his hand away. "I'm not avoiding anyone. I'm trying to nap."

"Liar," Cristiano says.

What's Sergio supposed to say here, though? That he's avoiding Iker because they'd kind of gotten each other off while in each other's bodies and he'd liked watching Iker come apart too much and he feels like a creep because every time he looks in the mirror he wants to strip off his clothes and wrap a hand around himself just to watch it again? Because he has a feeling that won't go over very well with anyone, least of all Iker. And if he tells Cristiano, he might as well be saying it straight to Iker's face. You can't keep secrets in this team; they've all got big mouths.

"I'm not avoiding him," Sergio says firmly.

"You're not avoiding him," Cristiano mocks. "You don't have a problem with the engagement. You're not in love with him." He rolls his eyes. "Babe, how many times do I have to tell you that you can't lie for shit?"

"Maybe it's got to do with Sara coming," Gareth says from behind them, his head popping through their seats. Gareth was the only person who they told the body swap thing. The rest of the team still didn’t know anything.

Sergio and Cristiano both tense up. Sergio's heart feels like it just plummeted into his stomach. "What did you just say?"

"She's not coming," Cristiano gasps. "Gareth, tell me she's not coming."

"Uh." Gareth shrugs sheepishly. "What? Iker asked me not to mention it!"

No. No way is she coming. No way is Iker doing this to him. He can't ask that of Sergio. He can't expect Sergio to put on a happy smile around her and pretend to be her happily devoted husband-to-be. He can't. Sergio will have a breakdown. It's bad enough to have to accept the fact that they're engaged; this is— this is too much.

Sergio stands up and wanders through the bus where Iker was sitting next to Marcelo.

He finds Iker giggling laughter with his mouth hanging open as Marcelo attempts to get pieces of popcorn into his mouth. Marcelo manages, a piece landing perfectly on Iker's tongue, and Iker closes his mouth, swallows, and says, "Sergio's mouth is good for a lot of things, apparently."

"What else do you think it's useful for?" Marcelo asks. "Oh, wait, you don't have to answer that, I already know what you think it'd be good for."

Sergio doesn't even try to figure out that exchange. "Iker," he says.

Iker slowly sits up, blinking lazily at him. "You talking to me again, then?"

It's not like Sergio's really been avoiding him. He hasn't. He's just been spending as much time not looking at, talking to, or thinking about Iker as he can. Right now, he wishes he could keep doing that, but he can't. "Gareth said — Gareth said Sara is coming."

"You didn't tell him?" Marcelo demands. "Iker, what the hell?"

Iker licks his lips. Sergio always thought that maybe Iker's lips were just extra dry, since Iker is always licking at them, wetting them with his tongue. But apparently they aren't; it's just a nervous tick. "I, um." He pauses, running a hand through his hair. "I thought I mentioned it."

"You didn't," Sergio says, accusatory and flat. "How could you not have mentioned it? Do you realize what this means?"

"I didn't think I'd have to tell you!" Iker says, getting defensive. "I thought we'd change back before she got here!"

"It's been almost a week and we haven't!" Sergio reminds him. "Now what the hell are we supposed to do? We can fool a crowd, but do you really think we can fool your fiancée?"

Iker winces, like Sergio slapped him. "I — I don't know," he says. "None of this was planned, Sergio! I tried telling her not to come but it's a little difficult over text to explain to your girlfr— your fiancée that you don't want her to come visit you over text when you've had her visit planned for months, okay?"

"You've known for months," Sergio says, "and you didn't think to warn me that it might be a possibility?"

"I'm going to go… anywhere but here," Marcelo says, getting up and walking towards the front of the bus.

"I was definitely going to fit it in somewhere between switching fucking bodies with you and the— the other stuff that happened," Iker snaps, sweat breaking out on his forehead the way it does to Sergio whenever he's nervous and upset. "I didn't mean for this to happen," he adds, lower, apologetic. "But it did, and we're going to have to just deal with it."

Sergio sucks in a breath, lowering his gaze. "What if I don't want to do it?"

"You don't really have a choice, Sergio."

"What if I did this to you?" Sergio demands. "Whatever," Sergio says. "When does she get here, so I have time to — to prepare, or whatever."

Because Sergio's going to need days, at least, to mentally set himself up for this. To prepare himself to pretend to be all loved-up with Iker's girlfriend. "And I'm not kissing her."

"That probably won't be a problem," Iker says easily. Sergio has only a second to wonder why the hell that wouldn't be a problem when Iker continues with, "She's meeting up with us this week shorty after we arrive in Valencia."

Sergio takes a deep breath. Sergio thinks of every single happy memory he has just so he doesn't strangle Iker.

"That's in two days," Sergio says. "That's in two days Iker!" He sinks down in the spare seat, putting his head in his hands. "I can't believe you waited this long to tell me."

"It's not exactly as if you've been talking to me these last couple days," Iker says.

His leg jiggles, he keeps licking at his lips, and he's running his hands through his hair so often that it looks horribly messy and not flattering the way Iker's dark, thick hair looks when he's messed it up. "Why haven't you been talking to me these last couple days?"

Silence.

"I can't deal with you shutting me out," Iker says. "I really — I really can't, Sergio. I need you too much."

He sounds so freaking hurt and broken over it, and Sergio feels so guilty for doing that to him. And for liking it. For liking that Iker needs him enough that it tears him apart when Sergio isn't there for him. That makes him a horrible person, he knows, but there it is.

"I'm sorry," Sergio says. "I didn't mean to shut you out."

"Mind telling me why you did?" Iker asks.

Sergio bites his lip and looks away.

"If it — if it has to do with what we did," Iker starts, and Sergio shakes his head fiercely. "Then what is it?"

"It's just… a lot," Sergio lies. "All of this. And sometimes I get lost in my head, you know? I didn't mean to shut you out. I was just— I was just trying to work this whole thing out, that's all. It wasn't personal."

Iker's arm goes around his shoulder, a hesitant smile on his lips, pushing up his cheeks, crinkling Sergio's brown eyes. "Work it out with me, maybe? I mean, I can kind of relate, dude."

Sergio lets out a weak laugh, and he prays Iker can't tell the difference between it and his genuine one. "I guess you can."

*

When they arrive in Valencia later that night the team goes straight to their hotel rooms.

Iker and Sergio would be rooming for one night, until Sara came and then obviously Iker would go and room with her. Well, Sergio in Ikers body would go room with her.

Sergio really didn’t look forwart to her arrival at all.

They both were lying on the bed, trying to sleep, when Iker suddenly speaks up.

"You're my favourite," he says easily, like it's not a big deal, although it really is. "Always have been and you know it, Sergio."

Sergio moves so he's lying closer to Iker. There's really not much room for two people in one of the beds, but that's never stopped any of them to moving even closer before. It just means their limbs tangle more and their forehead almost bumping together when they face each other.

"I wouldn't be adverse to you getting more tattoos," Sergio admits. “Or you could explain me the one you already have.”

“I like your tattoos. They look hot,” Iker replied ignoring Sergio’s comment about his own tattoo. “Maybe one day we could get matching tattoos.”

Sergio tries not to flush red at that. He thinks Sergio's tattoos are hot? "Like what?"

Iker shrugs, suddenly looking closed off. "I don’t know," he mumbles.

Sergio narrows his eyes suspiciously.

"I can tell when I'm lying," he says. He pokes Iker's side, and Iker squirms a little. "You already have something in mind, don't you? What is it?"

"It's nothing, Sergio," Iker says sharply.

There's a beat of silence where Sergio tries not to look as wounded as he feels, but he figures he mostly fails.

"Sorry," Iker whispers. He kisses Sergio's forehead and brushes his hair off the skin there. "Didn't mean to get like that. Just — I do have something I'd — I mean, I might have something in mind."

"Matching tattoos for us," Sergio clarifies.

"Yeah," Iker admits. "Maybe."

"What?"

Iker squirms again, this time from Sergio's words. "I don't know," he says.

Iker sits up, planting his feet on the floor. "Want to watch a movie on your laptop?"

No. Sergio wants to hear his tattoo idea. How does Iker manage to do that? How does he take Sergio's questions and leave him wondering more than he had when he'd started? It's not fair and it annoys him, but he knows he won't get a better answer if he pushes. Iker can't be pushed into talking about things if he really doesn't want to. He's not like the others, who might be hesitant to admit something but can be coerced into it, can be urged into letting it out. Iker's too stubborn.

"Yeah, okay."

*

"Sara wants me — wants you to meet her at the airport," Iker says.

Sergio looks up from his phone and the game of Candy Crush he was playing. "Tell her you're busy," Sergio mutters. "I'm busy."

"Playing a game on your phone isn't busy," Iker says. "I thought we talked about this."

They did, briefly, on the bus last night. Sergio hadn't wanted to, and he knows he probably acted like a defiant child the whole time, pouting and snippy. "You know me better than anyone," Iker had said. "If anyone could pull off being me, it's you." And he had a point, sure, but Sergio doesn't want to. Sergio doesn't want to pretend to be the happy devoted boyfriend of Sara. He wants to play his stupid game on his stupid phone and pretend that their stupid relationship is not a thing that exists, thank you.

"Why do I have to pick her up at the airport? She's just going to get in a car to come here," Sergio points out. "It'd be a waste of time. Why make the trip out there just to come back here?"

"Because it's polite," Iker supplies. "Because she's— never mind, I'll tell her I can't."

Sergio's noticed, and today is not the exception, that Iker's been on edge the last few hours. The closer and closer they got to Sara's impending arrival, the worse Iker got. He's been constantly pacing, tugging hands sloppily through his hair, and Sergio has a feeling his lips are going to be chewed completely raw by the time he gets them back. (If he ever gets them back.)

And Sergio knows it's because Iker's worried about Sergio somehow screwing this up and probably ruining his whole relationship for him.

"If you're this nervous," Sergio says, "why even let her come?"

Iker looks up from his phone. "It's not like I had a choice in it, Sergio," he says, tense and annoyed. "She's fucking pushy. I told her not to, but she didn't listen, and there's only so much I can protest before she gets offended and starts asking why I don't want her to come."

"Maybe we should tell her the truth," Sergio suggests. But then he imagines Iker telling her the truth, imagines the two of them spending her whole visit together. Imagines Iker kissing her while in Sergio's body, and anger pulses through him. "Actually, that's a really bad idea."

"You think?" Iker reaches into his pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. "She'd have me committed, if she didn't just assume I was fucking around. You got to make sure to control the conversation," Iker muttered "Just keep talking. And if she tries to talk about anything, don't let her."

Sergio frowns. "Why?"

Iker shrug. "She might, like, say things," he says. "It's just banter though, yeah? We joke a lot, so don't take anything she says seriously, okay? I mean anything."

"Okay."

"Shit." Iker stops, tilting his head to look up at the ceiling. "This is all going to blow up in my face, I just know it."

Sergio gets off the bed, heading over to him. He puts a hand on Iker's back. "It'll be fine," he says. He plasters his most genuine smile on his face. "I promise I won't screw this up. I'll do my best, okay?"

And he will, no matter how much it kills him.

Iker's expression softens. "Course you will," he says. "You always do. That's why I love you, Sergio."

"Love you, too."

"Just not the way—" Iker shakes his head, resuming his pacing. "It'll be fine," he says, more to himself than anything. "It'll be fine."

"I'll go meet her at the airport, if that'll help," Sergio says.

Iker pauses before once again shaking his head and pacing. "No. I think the best thing to do is to keep you two as far away from each other as we can without her getting suspicious. Which isn't going to last very long, but the less time you spend together, the better."

"You have a lot of faith in me," Sergio mutters.

"It's not you I'm worried about," Iker says under his breath. "Fuck. Why can't we turn back? Is there something we're supposed to do here? I just don't fucking get it."

"We could always try kissing again," Sergio suggests jokingly. "That worked really well the first time."

Iker just sighs at him for it. "I don't want to kiss myself," he says. "I want— I want a lot of things. Fuck."

"Iker." Sergio can't take it, he really can't. When Iker unravels, so does Sergio. "It'll be fine. I don't see why you're freaking out so much. I'll make sure it's all fine. You have nothing to worry about."

"Wrong, babe," Iker says. "I have everything to worry about."

"I thought worrying was my thing," Sergio tries weakly. "And it's not like she'd leave you over a bad three day visit, Iker."

"Would you, though?" Iker asks. "Would you leave—" He stops, digging into his pocket and pulling out his phone. "Fuck, she's on her way here. You should go meet her downstairs, at least. Help her with her bags."

Sergio nods and pulls Iker to a stop with a gentle hand on his arm. He kisses Iker's forehead lightly, not caring if he's technically kissing himself. It's still Iker in there, and it still — it still counts. "I'll be the perfect you. It'll be a brilliant performance, trust me."

Iker smiles weakly before following Sergio out the door. Sergio doesn't ask what he's doing, doesn't point out the fact that Sergio himself would never accompany Iker to help Sara get her bags, but that's because Sergio's petty and horrible, and Iker's probably making sure that Sergio doesn't fuck things up.

They end up waiting in the lobby for almost half an hour. Either traffic is bad or something's wrong, but Iker looks unconcerned from where he sits on the opposite side of the pristine white sofa in the lobby. He's been on his phone the whole time, though, frantically sending messages. Sergio left his own phone upstairs, and he's hating himself for it now.

"You going to just sit there, then?"

Sergio and Iker both nearly jump at the voice. Sergio looks up sharply into a pair of ridiculous wide, ridiculously lashed, ridiculously green eyes. She's pretty and Sergio hates her for it (bitter, Cristiano' voice in his mind says) but he slides a smile onto his face and stands up anyways. "Hey," he says. "I've been waiting forever."

"Not alone, though." Her eyes dart pointedly to Iker, and she smiles brightly. "Bet you didn't mind all that much, huh? Nice to see you as well, Sergio."

Sergio doesn't get the suggestive tone in her voice, but then again he doesn't really know her, so that's not surprising. He just smiles tightly and nods and hugs her because he figures that's what he's supposed to do. As her arms go around him, he tries to avoid noticing the ring on her finger. He fails.

Sergio offers to take her bags but she only lets him carry one, taking the other two for herself. The three of them head to the elevator, and Sergio is strangled by all the unsaid things. All the things they're hiding from Sara, like the body switch thing, like the mutual hand jobs thing. And all of his own secrets, like his burning annoyance and the even stronger need to grab Iker's hand and assure him that it's all fine. It'll all be fine. Sergio will make fucking sure of it, if it kills him or not.

"So," Sara says when they get to their floor, "are the three of us hanging out tonight, then?"

"Four," Iker says. "Gareth's coming to dinner with us."

"He is?" Sergio asks. He wasn't aware they were going to dinner in the first place, let alone that Gareth was coming.

"So I'm not, like, the third wheel," Iker explains. Sergio thinks that's not all of it. Inviting Gareth probably has more to do with the fact that Gareth's wonderful at filling awkward silences. Cristiano is, too, but Cristiano tends to make awkward silences even more awkward conversations.

"Sounds great," Sara says, and she sounds genuine. "I'm always trying to get Iker to bring you out with us," she adds, with another one of those pointed looks for Sergio.

She is? Why?

"I'm busy a lot," Iker says. "Sorry."

They get to the room, and Sergio unlocks the door before pushing it open. Sara looks a little confused when Iker follows them inside, and rightfully so. Sergio wouldn't ever voluntarily spend extended periods of time with the two of them together, so it's out of character for him to follow them into the room. But thankfully she doesn't comment on it, and Sergio definitely doesn't.

"You all get so nice rooms," Sara says, looking around as she drops her bags onto the floor. "Is there a Jacuzzi in the bathroom?" She disappears to check.

"I didn't know she wanted me to spend time with the two of you," Sergio says to Iker, pitching his voice low.

Iker shifts, frowning, and it tugs at the piercing in Sergio's eyebrow. He still not used to it, and he's taking it out as soon as he gets his body back, first thing. Even if it does look kind of cool. Sergio isn't really into that kind of thing.

"I didn't think you'd want to," Iker explains. "You've never really seemed to like her."

It's true, so why does it make Sergio feel guilty?

"No Jacuzzi," Sara sighs, coming out of the bathroom. "But I found bubble bath. I know what I'm doing after dinner."

Sergio's eyes widen. What if she expects Iker to join her? Sergio might be able to force himself into kissing her, but he's not comfortable with anything else, and he's pretty sure Iker would actually kill him if he did. Or punch him, at the very least.

"Now what?" Sara asks as she sits on the end of the bed.

"We could go sightseeing," Iker suggests. Sergio shoots him a look, but Iker just shrugs and when Sara goes through her bags, searching for something, he whispers, "If we keep busy then you two won't have any time to talk."

Is he really that worried that Sergio's going to say something wrong? What could he really say that would be that bad? Sergio can't figure it out, but he nods anyways. Anything to avoid some sort of awkward night with the three of them piled into one room. And maybe if they do enough they'll all get tired and maybe Sergio can sleep through all of tomorrow until their match.

*

Sara is not what Sergio expected. Sure, he's known her for years, but he's not ever gotten to know her. And she's not the evil, horrid bitch who stole the love of his life, like Sergio wishes she were. She's nice and she's funny and she's sweet and she loves Iker horribly. It's so obvious in the way she squeezes Sergio's hand and looks at him like he shines brighter than the sun when they leave the hotel.

Sergio has to constantly remind himself not to throw up. It'd be easier if she were horrible. It'd make Sergio feel a lot better about how he feels, about how many times he's prayed for Iker to leave her. But he's painfully aware that the only horrible person in this situation is him.

But there's this moment, this one really confusing moment when they're heading back to the hotel after hours of traveling around the city, trying to find something interesting to do, and people are cheering and cameras are flashing, that Sara leans in close and whispers, "There's cameras. Kiss me, quick."

Sergio blinks at her, pulling back just a fraction, confusion flashing in his eyes. Sara rolls her own. "Just pretend I'm him, if it'll make it easier," she says. "Come on, Iker."

So Sergio kisses her, but he's so confused that he barely even registers any of it except the way her lipgloss sticks to his lips afterwards, and the annoyed look on Iker's face when they break apart, and the people screaming. He lets her drag him inside by their joined hands, which she releases as soon as they're out of the line of sight.

"Can we do dinner now?" she asks, batting her eyelashes. "I'm starving."

Sergio feels like he's missing pieces. Important puzzle pieces that reveal the whole picture, and Iker's standing just to the right of them, hands stuffed in a pair of Sergio's jeans, a look on his face that says he's praying with everything he has that Sergio doesn't figure them out.

*

"I'll sit with Gareth," Sara says at dinner. They're at some cheap restaurant with low lighting and booths with holes in the seats that look like they've been around much longer than Sergio has. But it smells great, it's nearly empty, and it's not the kind of place anyone would expect them to be, so it's the perfect place for them to be.

"Okay," Sergio says slowly, sliding into the booth beside Iker. Iker, who doesn't look even slightly fazed that his fiancée would chose to sit with their teammate instead of him. She's not even sitting across from Sergio, in fact. Sergio's on the outside seat, she's on the inside with Gareth across from him. At the most, Iker looks a little pinched, maybe, and he's excessively jiggling his leg, but he's definitely not surprised.

A waiter comes over to them, a guy with floppy reddish blond curls and the most bored expression on his face Sergio's ever seen. He hands them all menus, asks if they'd like to start with drinks, and then slouches off without batting an eyelash.

"We should tip him very well," Sara comments. Sergio almost snorts a laugh until he drops his gaze to her hand, and suddenly any and all laughter dies in his throat as the low light glints off the ring.

While his eyes scan the menu, and Gareth (as always) reads out every possible option, like he's fishing for input on what to get, Iker barely even looks at his own. He's still vibrating, nervously licking his lips and shaking, and Sergio hates it. So, as discreetly as he can, he puts a stilling, comforting hand on Iker's thigh, fingers squeezing in just a bit until Iker sighs and sort of leans towards him.

"— just one, though," Gareth is saying. "That's why I hate restaurants. What if I get one thing and it sucks, and there's like twenty other things I could have gotten that are probably awesome? It's just too much pressure, man. I need an adult."

"Gareth," Sara says, gentle and solemn, "I hate to break this to you, but you are an adult."

"Let's just get two appetizers to share for now," Sergio suggests. "I— Sergio?"

Iker looks up at him, and Sergio sort of gets now what everyone says about the puppy-look. That look hurts. "Yeah?"

"That sound good to you?" Sergio prompts.

"Oh, yeah, sure. Whatever." Iker shuts his menu and folds his arms on the table in front of him, eyes downcast.

When Sergio lifts his gaze, Sara nods her head in Iker's direction and mouths, "He okay?" Sergio nods back at her, even though he's fairly certain Iker's not okay. And why would she care? Even Gareth's not worrying at all about Iker, too busy picking out something to eat, but Sara is. Sara's worried about Sergio, technically, because she thinks that's him.

The waiter comes back with their drinks and there's a moment of playful bickering between Gareth and Sara over what they're ordering, and then he slouches off again. Without the need to talk about food, Gareth looks around the table once, darts his gaze between Sergio and Iker, and then goes off on a long story about a drunken adventure where he and a few teammates accidentally stole some guy's pet rabbit from a party that leaves Sara in a fit of giggles and Iker's lips finally tugging up in something resembling a smile.

All in all, it's one of the most uncomfortable dinners of Sergio's life, but Sergio's dreading it ending. What happens then? What happens when there aren't any more excuses for Iker to stay with them? What happens when Sergio is left alone with Sara and —

"Any chance I could get something a little stronger to drink?" Sergio asks the waiter when he comes by with their appetizers.

"What are you doing?" Iker demands.

Sergio shrugs and sips at his water while he waits for his other drink to come.

"So what's it like being engaged?" Gareth asks. Everyone else at the table tenses, but Gareth doesn't seem to notice as he slips the straw of his drink into his mouth. "Is no one going to answer that, then?"

"Uh," Sergio says eloquently, while Sara gives him an expectant look, like she's waiting for his input.

"It's not much different than anything else we've done," she finally answers. "I mean, he's my best friend. I love him with my whole heart, and it doesn't really change much, a ring or a promise of something more one day."

Iker sighs and Sergio wants to cry. "Yeah," he says, because that's what's expected. Because that's what Iker would do, isn't it? Agree to what she said. Of course, Iker would find something to add, something that meant something. Sergio doesn't know how to do that, how to put what he feels into words, not without stumbling over them and ruining everything. "I have to go to the bathroom."

Sergio practically runs from the table, nearly bumping into their waiter on his way to the bathroom. It's dingy inside, two red coloured stalls, two sinks, two mirrors in need of a scrub down, two urinals. Sergio goes straight over to the sinks, turning one on, cupping his hands under the spray and leaning down to splash it over his face. He feels clammy, sick, like he has the flu and he's burning up with a fever.

A hand slowly rubs at his back, and Sergio squeezes his eyes closed for a moment before meeting Iker's eyes in the mirror. "You sick?" Iker asks, worry etched into the words. "You should have said if you weren't feeling well, Sergio."

"I'm fine," Sergio says. Iker raises an eyebrow, clearly not believing that. "Fine. My stomach's killing me. It's probably just the drink."

"Do you want to go back to the hotel?"

Fuck no. "No." Definitely not. "I'll be fine."

"No more alcohol though," Iker says. "Okay?"

That's probably for the best. As much as Sergio doesn't want to do this sober, getting drunk right now would only worsen the situation. "Yeah, okay."

When they get back to the table, Gareth and Sara are caught up in an animated conversation, both of them laughing. Neither of them stop as Iker and Sergio retake their seats.

Iker reaches for a nacho off the plate they'd ordered and a foot hooks around Sergio's ankle. He jumps, startled, and finds Sara looking at him with her eyebrows pointedly raised. She's asking something with her eyes, sliding them over to Iker for a second, but Sergio doesn't know what it is. He doesn't know her the way Iker apparently does, can't pick up on her unspoken words, so he just shrugs and grabs a nacho too.

Sergio's stomach has mostly settled by the time they pay they check. He spent most of the night eating to avoid talking, and holding Iker's hand under the table. He can't remember who initiated that, if it was him who grabbed Iker's hand, seeking assurance himself or looking to assure Iker that everything was fine, or if it had been Iker. All he knows is that their hands, like their lips and their bodies, fit perfectly together.

Getting back to the hotel, though, has him feeling sick all over again. They all pile into the elevator while Gareth talks about plans to go out with Cristiano and Toni for a bit, take advantage of their night off while they can. "What about you three?" Gareth asks.

"We're going to stay in, probably watch whatever trashy TV we can find like we normally do," Sara answers for them. "Right, Iker?"

"Uh." Sergio looks at Iker, panicked. "I guess?"

"Sergio's more than welcome, too," she adds. "If you'd like, Sergio."

"Sounds great, yeah," Iker says immediately. "Thanks."

Once again, Iker follows them to the room. Sergio wishes he could still room with Iker; wishes he weren't expected to share with her, because all he wants is to crawl under the blankets, pull them high over his head, and pretend like this isn't happening. Any of it. He doesn't want any of it. He doesn't want to be Iker; he doesn't want Iker to be Sara's; he doesn't want to feel anything for Iker but friendship, because that would be so much easier. That would make his whole life so, so much simpler. And it'd make his heart hurt a lot less, too.

"I'm going to take a quick shower," Sara says once the door is closed. "That alright with you two?"

Iker shrugs and falls onto the bed, spreading out, head tipped back against the pillows. Sergio goes and sits on the other side, tense and straight, nodding only once. Sara gives Sergio another one of those confusing, secretive looks before ducking into the bathroom with one of her bags. As soon as she's gone, Sergio lets out a sigh of relief, and Iker falls onto his side, reaching over to pull Sergio down next to him.

"We're doing good," he says, "right?" He nervously bites at his pinky nail. "Right, Sese?"

"Yeah." Sergio nods stiffly. "I don't think she suspects anything."

Sergio hears the shower in the bathroom turned on, soon followed by Sara's soft, melodic singing. He reaches blindly for the remote and turns on the TV, flicking through the basic channels for something, anything to watch. Eventually Iker tugs it away from him, check the guide, and puts on some random sitcom that does little to hold Sergio's attention.

That's more because of Iker's fingers tracing patterns on the inside of his wrist than the quality of the show, though. "Iker?" Sergio blurts, moving his hand up to capture Iker's. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah?" Iker doesn't look away from the screen, only squeezes Sergio's hand in acknowledgement.

Sergio sucks in a breath, looks far away from Iker's eyes, and asks, "Is she really what you want? For the rest of your life?"

He can feel Iker looking at him, his gaze like the sun on a cloudless day, the kind where you stay indoors or seek shade if you can't ignore it: too hot and too much to handle. "That's a really dumb question, Sergio," Iker says lowly.

It is, Sergio thinks. "Sorry."

Iker sighs. "It's fine." He curls up against Sergio's side. "Why do you ask?"

Sergio shrugs. "Just wondering," Sergio lies. "What are we watching, anyways?"

"Fuck if I know," Iker admits. "I don't recognize any of these channels." He goes back to the guide, skipping past show after show. "That's one thing I really hate about being in other countries; I never know what channels anything good is on."

"I can get my laptop," Sergio suggests. "We can watch something on that."

"Nah." Iker sits up, covering his mouth to hide a yawn. "I think I'm gonna go to my room. Today was exhausting."

Sergio's eyes widen. "You can't leave me alone with her!" he hisses. "Iker—"

"Just go to sleep," Iker says. "I pass out on her all the time. She won't even care."

"Wow," Sergio says. "You must be a great boyfriend, Iker."

Iker grins at him, reaching down to cup Sergio's cheek. "I would be, you know," he says before his hand slips away and he climbs off the bed. "Goodnight, Sergio. See you in the morning."

Sergio stares after him, a little dumbstruck, too flabbergasted to move. What did that even mean? What the hell just happened? He doesn't even get a moment to try to figure it out, because the shower turns off and he can hear Sara moving around in the bathroom.

Sergio quickly climbs under the covers, pulling them up, and faces away from the door, pretending to be asleep as he listens to Sara bustling around in the bathroom. A few minutes later the door opens, releasing a cloud of sweet, cherry smelling steam that Sergio wrinkles his nose at.

"Seriously?" Sara groans. "Every time with you, Iker," she mutters. Sergio keeps his eyes clamped shut as the bed dips behind him. "I know you're not sleeping, you shit. You snore."

Sergio winces, guilty, and rolls over. She's not under the comforter, at least, and they're not even close to touching. She's dressed in a pair of worn, loose sweats, her hair piled up on top of her head in that messy bun thing that everyone does, her face wiped clean of makeup. It makes her look a lot younger, a lot softer, as does the way she smiles down at him. "Where'd Sergio go?"

"To bed," Sergio says. "He, uh, told me to tell you goodnight, and that he was too tired to stay."

"I'm sorry, babe," she says.

Sergio frowns. "For what?"

Sara playfully pokes his side. "You know what," she teases. "You're pathetic, Casillas. Completely pathetic."

"I am?" Is this what Iker meant about banter that he wasn't supposed to listen to?

"Absolutely," she says, sounding delighted as she snags the TV remote. "I've never met a bigger love struck idiot in my life. But it's okay, I still love you." She bends down, her lips falling against his cheek, instead of his lips the way he'd expected them to. "You can go to bed. I'll just watch TV and order myself something to eat."

"We just got back from dinner," Sergio reminds her. And she'd eaten a whole plate of food, fought with Gareth over the last of the nachos they'd had, and how could she possibly consider eating again? There's no way.

"And?" Sara shoots him a look. "I'm hungry. Don't give me that judgmental look. I want cheesecake."

"Okay," Sergio drags out. "Night, then."

"Night, babe."

Sergio rolls over, turning his back to her, laying at the very edge of the bed, as much distance between them as possible. But he can't sleep. The TV is distracting, as is the way Sara laughs at even the most terrible jokes. She orders food, just like she said, and Sergio hears her fork scraping against the plate as her phone beeps and beeps, all night long.

But he's not looking forward to the moment it ends, because when it does, she finally climbs under the covers. Sergio waits for it, stomach knotting as he anxiously waits for her to cuddle up to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. But she doesn't. The entire night she stays on the other side of the bed, far, far away from him.

What the hell? Sara's actually barely made any effort to touch him, except when they'd been shouldering their way past the cameras and screaming fans.

Something, Sergio thinks, is going on here. But whatever it is, he really doesn't want to know.

*

"You've been sleeping for ages," wakes him up, a faint whine in Sara's voice. "Get up, Iker. I want to do something. I want to shop."

Sergio groans, turning over. "Sleeping," he mumbles, trying to keep his eyes shut. "Shh."

"Don't you shush me," she warns. "I'll push you right out of that bed, so help me—"

"Okay, okay." Sergio sits up, running a hand through his hair. "I'm up."

"Good. Now out of bed." She drops a pile of clothing on top of him. "I've already got a car ready for us, and I checked out the directions to a few shops I really want to go to." She pauses, a winning grin on her face as she holds out her arms. "How do I look, by the way?"

Sergio frowns and tries to focus his eyes. She's in some pair of extremely short shorts and a tank topish, flowy shirt that nearly passes the hemline of them. "Uh, great," Sergio mumbles. "You look — yeah. Good." He lifts up his thumb and wipes at his eyes with his freehand.

Sara makes a tisking sound with her tongue. "Oh, whatever," she sighs. "Just get out of bed, yeah? I've already got you an outfit ready. Hurry up."

"What time is it?" Sergio asks as he gets out of bed.

"Eleven."

Damn. Apparently sleeping in is something Sergio inherited when he inhabited Iker's body. He never sleeps in this late, not unless he's sick or seriously hung over.

Sergio reaches for the pile of clothing on the bed, finding an assortment of clothes that belong to everyone. There's a pair of Iker's jeans, those socks definitely belong to Marcelo, Gareth's t-shirt, and one of Cristiano' beanies. He doesn't remember stealing all those things from the others, but he figures he must have. Iker ran out of clothes days ago, and he hasn't had time (or energy) to go shopping to get something proper to wear.

Sergio sighs and starts undressing, until Sara lets out a squawk. "What're you doing?" she demands, covering her eyes. "No one wants to see that, you sicko."

He just— "What?"

"Ugh, penises," Sara groans. "I really don't understand the way the male anatomy works. They're like those little breakfast sausages when they're all limp and uncut and— ew." She shudders. "Go in the bathroom if you're taking everything off."

Sergio gathers up the clothes in confusion, heading into the bathroom. He frowns at the mirror, as if Iker's reflection can give him some sort of explanation, because Iker himself definitely hadn't, and Sara isn't going to. But, just like the real Iker, he's absolutely silent in the wake of Sergio's confusion, so Sergio sighs again and starts undressing. (And he sneaks a peak, just to see, but Iker is cut and it doesn't look anything like a breakfast sausage, okay?)

But why would she protest to him changing in front of her? That doesn't make any sense. A lot of things don't make any sense.

Sergio dresses slowly, dragging it out, splashing water onto his face and brushing his teeth when he's done. When he comes out, Sara's perched on the freshly made bed, adjusting the headband in her hair as she flips through her phone. "Took you long enough," she complains. "The car's been here for five minutes."

"Sorry," Sergio says. "Um. Should we ask the others if they want to come?"

"No," Sara says as she stands. "Just us for now, yeah? Let me have just an hour or two alone with my best friend, please."

She's pouting, is the thing. It's fairly effective, what with the perfectly pink lips and the wide blue eyes and the batting of her heavy eyelashes. "Okay."

Sergio throws a single, stressed look at his phone, desperate to grab it and send Iker a text to come with them, but Sara's grabbing his arm, tugging him out of the room, and he doesn't have time. She keeps her arm linked firmly in his the whole way down to the lobby, like she's expecting him to run, and she doesn't drop it to link their fingers together until they're in view of the large glass entrance and the people waiting out front.

A member of their security is waiting for them in the vehicle, unsurprisingly. Sergio slides into his seat, Sara climbing in after him, and does up his seatbelt before looking out the window, watching the people outside through the tinted glass. That's how he spends the whole drive, while Sara happily chats up the driver and their security guy. She's ridiculously bubbly and cheerful to everyone, and Sergio's never met anyone (aside from Gareth) who can befriend anyone, at any time, so easily.

"Come on," she says half an hour later, shoving a few pieces of clothing at him. They're in some small, local clothing shop with more manikins than Sergio's ever seen in such a small place, and ridiculously high prices for clothes almost identical to something he could buy for a fraction of their cost anywhere less private. "Go try it on."

Sergio groans. They've only just started shopping, technically, but it feels like they've been at it for hours. "I don't—"

"Sergio would like it," Sara teases, waggling her eyebrows. "So go try it on."

"What— what does that have to do with anything?" Why would him liking it persuade Iker into trying something on?

Sara shoves him forcibly into a changing stall. "Just try it on," she orders. "Stop complaining."

So Sergio does, with the hopes that obeying will get her to back off, and maybe they can head back to the hotel soon. He's hungry, bored, irritated, and he wants to be with Iker, not with her. So he pulls off his own shirt, tugs on the one she'd handed to him. He's not sure what's so special about it, it's just a simple black printed t-shirt, but.

"Happy?" Sergio asks as he comes out.

"Oh, that looks great on you," Sara compliments. "Definitely get it."

"Okay." Sergio goes back inside the change room and works on getting back into his own clothes.

"Speaking of Sergio," she says as he does, door of the change room between them, and Sergio pauses, tensing a little. "How are you two, by the way? You didn't really say last time we chatted."

"Uh. We're good?"

"I take that to mean you're both still completely stupid," she sighs.

"Um." What? The more she talks, the more confused Sergio gets. It's starting to really bother him. "I guess."

"Boys," Sara scoffs. "Boys and their stupid inability to talk about or own up to their stupid feelings. You're both annoyingly daft."

Sergio comes out of the change room, door banging loudly against the wall. "Can we go?" he snaps. He wants to be back at the hotel. He wants to pull Iker aside and demand answers to all the questions he has. "I don't want to shop."

Sara looks marginally taken back by the heat in his words. "Okay," she says. "Yes, we can — Sorry. I know I shouldn't have brought it up." She lowers her gaze, scuffs the sole of her hightops against the ground. "I know how you are about it, and I shouldn't have pushed. I apologize."

And now Sergio feels guilty. "No, it's not you," he says quickly, and it's not, or not completely anyways. "I'm just tired and cranky."

Her happy smile is back so fast Sergio nearly gets whiplash. "I know," she says. "Just give me ten minutes to pick something out, yeah? You can wait in the car. I'll be fast." She tugs the shirt from his grip. "And I'll get this one for you."

"Alright." Sergio lets her wave him off, heading for the car, where he sits for the next half hour, impatience growing by the second. Finally she comes out, weighed down by bag after bag. How had she had time to try all that on? Fucking Christ, Sergio will never understand women. "Ready to go?"

"Yep," she says pleasantly. "I'll show you what I got when we get back. You should see this pair of shorts I got. They're gorgeous. And this pair of wedges that—"

Sergio tunes it out.

*

Sergio doesn't get a chance to corner Iker that day. He's busy, out with Marcelo and Gareth on their own shopping excursion, and they nearly have to leave for the game by the time they all get back. Which means Sergio is stuck all day in the hotel with Sara, which she actually seems okay with. She changes back into her sweats after subjecting Sergio to a long, long fashion show of everything she'd bought (so many clothes, Sergio has no idea how she'll have time to wear them all) and spends the day on the bed, ordering room service over and over, chowing down on everything from salad to onion rings. How she manages to fit all of it in there, Sergio has no idea. She's like a bottomless pit, could give Gareth a run for his money.

She comes to the game that night, too, wearing Iker’s jersey.

They tied and when they get back to their hotel Iker follows them back to their room, curling up on the bed to watch TV with him again while Sara showers, until she gets up and crawls between them, resting her head on Sergio's chest.

The next day is much of the same just without the game. In the evening, they pack up their stuff, and Sara plans on heading back home. It was such a short, weird visit, and Sergio's forced to accompany her to the airport, where they have the most dramatic goodbye kiss ever. Sergio tries not to wrinkle his nose when he pulls back, rubbing at his mouth as camera after camera flash nearly blinds him.

"I'll miss you," she whispers in his ear. "You call me, okay?"

"Okay."

"And let me know if anything happens with your boy," she adds, pointing a stern finger at him. "I want all the details. Or— not all of them, actually, but I want to know if anything happens, yeah? He seemed really happy to be near you the whole time I was there. It's nice to see you both getting along again."

"Right." Sergio's too numb to say anything else.

"I love you!" she says loudly as she back away. "I'll miss you!"

"You too."

When Sergio thinks he can do so without seeming disrespectful, he walks away, heading back for the car to take him to the hotel so he can grab his bags and get on the tour bus. He's silent the whole way, too cold and aching to keep his eyes open.

The thing is, Sergio doesn't hate her. Sergio doesn't hate her at all. Those three days only proved to him something he'd been avoiding for so long: Sara is wonderful and she loves Iker and she seems to make him incredibly happy.

He always imagined in his head, bitterly, that they didn't work. That they weren't really paired well together. That Iker and Sara didn't click, didn't really have anything in common. He was wrong. They're both similarly lazy and bubbly when they want to be; they both like the same dumb TV shows and laugh at the same dumb things. She's sickeningly sweet with him, seems to want nothing but the very best for him, from what Sergio could tell.

And he's… he's happy for them. For the first time, he's happy for them. He'd accepted it, last night when she'd kissed his forehead before climbing under the blankets and passing out. Maybe he can't have Iker, and that's okay. Maybe he's okay with Iker being with someone else, if she genuinely lights up his world.

It kills Sergio inside. It's worse than everything else that's happened. It's worse than the day they'd made their relationship official. It's worse than all those times she'd called him when they were together and Iker had ducked away with a grin on his face. It's worse than that day when he'd spotted the ring on her finger, and the hundreds of interview questions about it. It was like there was a part of him, before, that had convinced himself that there was still a chance, but now he knows there isn't.

Iker is happy with Sara, and Sergio wants Iker to be happy. He'd rather Iker be happy with him, but if that's not an option — he's glad Iker has someone who seems to genuinely love and care about him. He really is.

He throws up when he gets back to the hotel, hugging the toilet bowl and heaving up everything he's eaten in the last two days. He brushes his teeth and packs away his things with shaking hands, and he weakly carries his things to the bus. He ignores the inquiring looks from his teammates, gets to his seat and pulls his hood up to block everyone else out.

Only it's impossible to really avoid the others, even when he desperately wants to, and Iker climbs next to him without warning — and without asking.

"What's wrong?" he wonders, laying down beside Sergio so they are both cuddled up. "Why'd you just ignore us all?"

"I'm not in the mood right now," Sergio says softly.

Iker's eyebrows draw together, concerned. "What happened?" he demands. "Talk to me, Sergio, don't block me out."

So Sergio does. He closes his eyes, takes a steadying breath, and says, "I'm really happy for you, Iker. I know I've never said it before, but — about the engagement, I'm really happy for you." He blinks open his eyes, praying his tears aren't obvious to Iker even as they obstruct his vision. "She's really lovely, and I'm glad you two are happy together. Congratulations."

Iker's eyes dart between both of his. "What? What—"

"She's really great," Sergio emphasizes. "I'm really happy for both of you. I think you'll— I think you'll make a great husband, Iker."

"Where is this coming from?" Iker demands. "Did she — did Sara say something?"

"She said a lot of things," Sergio mumbles. He sighs, tilting his head towards the window so he didn’t have to look at Iker. "She really loves you, yeah? Don't think you could ask for much more. I'm really, really, truly happy for you. You deserve someone that makes you happy."

He feels the tears slipping down his face, wetting his pillow, but he knows Iker can't see them. "Sergio," he says. "Why are you—?"

"Can I sleep, please?" Sergio begs. Maybe Iker can't see it, but Sergio can hear it, the fact that he's crying clear as day in his voice. "I didn't get much sleep last night, and I'd like to nap before we arrive in Madrid again."

"Sergio," Iker tries again, and there's something watery in his words, too, thick and quiet.

Sergio tugs his blankets up. "Please go away."

Iker makes a lost, strangled sound before he jumps up. He moves to the back of the bus to find another seat, and Sergio can hear him stomp away, far from him. "What's wrong?" he hears Marcelo ask. "Iker, what—"

"Leave me alone," Iker snaps.

He doesn't fall asleep, though. He lays on his side, facing the window, and cries until it feels like he has nothing left inside him anymore. He feels pathetic. He doesn't cry, ever, and this is what breaks him? But that's the reason, isn't it? He's broken. Heartbroken. He's been dumped. He's been dumped by people he's loved, and people he hasn't, but he doesn't think he's ever been truly heartbroken before. Not like this. It feels like he's shattered.

No, not shattered, actually. He's not in a bunch of little pieces, that's not what it feels like. It feels like someone has reaches inside him and ripped out something vital. He may still be alive, but he's missing an important piece of himself. That's what it feels like: like he's incomplete. Like he's lost something that he needed, and he'll never get it back.

He feels the bus come to a stop a while later. He's not sure how long it's been, exactly. Crying takes everything out of him, makes him feel like he hasn't slept properly in weeks.

"Come on, babe," Cristiano says gently. "We're here."

"I don't want to get up," Sergio mumbles. “I don’t want to go home alone. Do you think I can sleep over at yours?”

"What happened?" Cristiano presses. "Iker, who’s sleeping over at Marcelo’s because he can’t be alone either, stormed out of here the second we arrived, and you sound like you've been—"

"I'm fine," Sergio cuts him off, not turning around. "I'm just exhausted. Don't worry about me."

"I always worry about you," Cristiano protests. "Sergio, babe, come on. Get out of your seat and come to mine. You can always come over and you know this."

"Thank you.”

They both get out of the bus and in Cristiano’s car. The drive to his house is silent and Sergio is still crying a bit.

When they arrive the just go into the house and Sergio goes straight to the guest rom, falls on the bed and then, while thinking about Iker, he falls asleep.

*

Sergio wakes up feeling horrible. His head is heavy, like he'd cried all night which — oh, right, he had. He rolls over, rubbing at his eyes, finding them crusty and gross. They sting when he blinks them open, and his whole body feels weak. He could use another three, four hours of sleep, he thinks, but he can't spend his whole life feeling sorry for himself. At some point he has to start moving on, and the sooner he does the better. The sooner he gets over this (if he can) the better.

Beside him, someone groans and rolls over. "I can show you the world," Marcelo mumbles. "Shining, shimmering…" He sighs and goes silent again.

Sergio blinks down at him. And then blinks some more. And then he stands up, looking at his arms. Tattoos, his sleeve is back. They’re not Iker’s arms. Sergio stumbles towards the bathroom, eyes wide. He grips the sink with tight hands, knuckles turning white, and —

It's Sergio looking back at him. Brown eyes, short hair, dressed in a loose t-shirt and boxers. It's him. He lifts a hand, pokes at his own cheeks. He makes a face, just to see, and his reflection in the mirror does the same.

"Marcelo!" Sergio practically runs from the room, nearly tripping over the carpeted floor. Marcelo barely stirs, clutching the blanket closer to himself while mumbling something about Jasmine needing to shut the hell up because he's trying to sing to her right now. "Marcelo, get up."

"Iker," Marcelo whines. "Fuck off you dick."

Sergio shakes him. "Marcelo."

Marcelo finally wakes, glaring at Sergio like he's trying to kill him with his stare. "What?" he demands. "What the hell are you—?"

"I'm Sergio," Sergio says. "Marcelo, I'm me again."

Marcelo blinks at him. "Me as in…?"

"Sergio," Sergio says. "We switched back!"

"About fucking time," Marcelo grumbles. "Now shut up and go back to sleep, you psycho. It's like six in the morning, you freak."

Sergio makes a face at him, but Marcelo ignores it in favour of rolling back over. With a sigh, Sergio lets him be, heading back for the bathroom. He grins at himself in the mirror, and he's never been so happy in his life to be himself again.

And then last night comes crashing down around him again, and he remembers why he'd woken up feeling like he'd barely slept. His joy dissipates a bit, but he forces a smile back onto his face anyways. At least he's him again, he rationalizes. This will all be so much easier to deal with now that he's not Iker, even if he feels a little twinge when he looks in the mirror again.

He rubs a hand down his face, trying to clear his head. He's still tired, though, and he feels gross, like he'd spent the night sweating. He shrugs out of his shirt, tossing it onto the floor, and turns on the shower, praying it'll make him feel better.

But as he's pulling down his boxers, he eyes himself in the mirror. Something had caught his eye. Something dark and small and familiar.

Sergio frowns as he lifts one leg onto the toilet seat, bent at the knee, exposing the inside of his thigh. There, in small, neat writing, is a simple 'I'. Just like Iker's, only — Sergio licks at his thumb and wipes at it, and his heart sinks when it smudges. Not a tattoo, then. Just pen, or something.

But why? Why in the world would Iker do that?

"And it's sure as fuck not Sara’s initial tattooed on the inside of his thigh, babe," he remembers Cristiano saying. And he hadn't really believed it at the time, hadn't thought it was true, but — if the 'S' on Iker's leg isn't for Sergio, then why would Iker put a matching 'I' on Sergio's leg?

Sergio chews the inside of his lip as he climbs into the shower, and he watches with a detached sense of sadness as the 'I' washes away with the water. As soon as he's dried and dressed, he goes out into the room, finding Marcelo back asleep, taking up the whole bed, practically. Sergio rolls his eyes fondly as he heads for the door, checking only once to make sure Marcelo is fast asleep.

He borrows Marcelo’s car, figuring he sure wouldn’t have a problem with that, and drives straight to Cristiano’s house to Iker.

The inside of the house is dark when he rang the bell frequently. It's nearly dark outside, too, the low, faded light of early morning shining down on him. He loves this time of day, really. When the stars still pinprick the sky, and the orange of the sun chases away the black of the night. When it's cool and damp, and the only sounds are from birds and insects.

Finally Cristiano opens the door.

“I’m Sergio again and I need to see Iker,” was the only explanation Sergio gave him when he stormed inside Cristiano’s house to the guest room where Iker would be sleeping.

Sergio opens the door and Iker, inside, shifts a little, pouting in that way he does when he's asleep, hands curled tightly around the blanket. Sergio shoves at his shoulders.

"Iker," he says. "Iker."

"Shh," Iker pleads. "Shh."

"Wake up," Sergio says, loud and sharp.

"No," Iker groans. "Never."

"Do you want me to pull you out of the bed?" Sergio warns. "Because I will."

"Sergio," Iker whines. "Sergio—" And then his eyes slowly open. "Sergio?"

"We changed back," Sergio says. It sounds sort of anticlimactic, but Iker's eyes widen anyways and he nearly slips out of the bunk. Sergio puts his hands up, blocking the edge, and he grins. "You're you again."

Iker looks a little dazed as he sits up, rubbing at his eyes. He hops down from the bed, landing unsteadily on his socked feet. As soon as Sergio's put a hand on his arm to keep him upright, Iker reaches up, cupping Sergio's cheek with a soft, gentle hand. "You're you," he says, just as Sergio had, but there's something different in the way he says it. "Sergio."

"Yeah," Sergio keeps grinning, "I am. And so are you."

And then Iker kisses him. It's a desperate sort of kiss, one that catches him completely off guard. Iker's lips are bitter-tasting and chapped from sleep, but Sergio doesn't even care. He clings at Iker, desperately holding on as Iker's lips press hard and insistent against his own, tongue pushing out, making a low sound in the back of his throat.

He pulls back abruptly, leaving Sergio dumbstruck, swaying on his feet. "Sorry," Iker gasps out, clutching hard at his arm. "Sorry, I couldn't — I had to. I'm sorry."

"Why did you do that?" Sergio asks, carefully taking a step back, then another, because the closer he is the Iker the more he wants to return the favour, wants to capture his lips and push him back against the nearest bunk, not stopping until Iker's a mess of bitten lips and sweaty skin with love-bites covering his throat and maybe his thighs, too.

"I'm sorry," Iker says again, instead of supplying an explanation.

"Iker—"

"I'm just glad to have you back," Iker says, and Sergio can see them, the watery tears in his eyes. "I'm just really happy to—" He cups Sergio's cheek again, thumb sliding over his stubble. "I'm so fucking happy to touch you again. Not — not you in my body."

"Why did you kiss me?" Sergio asks, pulling Iker's hand down, breaking contact. "Why did you do that?"

"Sergio," Iker says. Nothing else, just his name.

"Why did you do that?" Sergio demands, a little louder. "And why — why do you have an 'S' tattooed on the inside of your leg? Why was there a 'I' on mine when I woke up?" And now he's on a roll, firing questions off at random. "Why did your fiancée barely touch you when she was here? Why did she only kiss you in front of cameras? Why did she seem so happy that you and I weren't fighting anymore? Why, Iker? Tell me, because I'm so freaking lost over this whole thing!"

"Don't," Iker pleads. "Some questions are better left unanswered, yeah?"

"No, they're not." Sergio crosses his arms over his chest, eyes narrowed. "I've been really fucking confused these last few days, Iker, and I want answers."

"Why do you want to ruin everything?" Iker snaps. "Can't you just let it go?"

"I can't," Sergio says. "I can't let it go, Iker."

"Fuck," Iker groans. He tugs a hand through his hair, collapsing onto the bed.

"If I say it, everything will change. Don't you get that? That as soon as it's out there, this is all — this is all ruined."

Sergio sits next to him, but he doesn't touch Iker. Touching right now won't help things, it'll only distract them both. "What will all be ruined?"

Iker waves a hand between them. "This. Us. You'll look at me different. You won't touch me the same. It'll — it'll all change, Sergio."

Screw not touching him. Sergio grabs Iker's hand, holding on tightly, probably crushing Iker's fingers by accident while trying to tell him without words that nothing could ever — "Nothing could change this, okay?" Sergio promises. "I just need to know, Iker. I'm confused and I hate it. I hate that there's clearly something that you're hiding, and you don't trust me enough to tell me."

Which is hypocritical and he knows it, since he's hiding something too.

"Fine." Iker pulls his hand away, looking at the floor as he mumbles, "We're not getting married, alright?"

Sergio frowns. "Who?"

"Sara and I," Iker says, a little snappish. "We're not engaged. We're not getting married. Fuck, we're not even really dating, Sergio."

Answers are supposed to clear things up, not make them more confusing. "What?"

"I know," Iker groans. "I know I shouldn't have lied but— it was a lot easier, for me. For both of us. We're — we're good friends, yeah, Sara and I. Have been for years. But that's just it, we're just friends. But we agreed that it'd be easier on us both if we pretended it was more than that. It'd stop the constant rumours on who we were both hooking up with. It's just a lot easier, when an interviewer asks who's single and who's taken, if I can lift my hand and says, yeah, I've got a girlfriend."

No. No way. There's no possible way. "But — but you asked her to marry you!"

"Yeah." Iker winces, looking guilty. "Wasn't the smartest move, but, like, with all the cheating rumours, and the shit I get every time I even look at — We both figured it'd put an end to that shit, right, if they thought we were getting married. And I knew it was a dumb idea, but it's — do you know what it's like? You don't have the same issues, Sergio. You're seen as the level-headed one, you're the responsible one. There's not a thousand articles out there of people arguing that you're a bad person. So I just — I lied, and I know it's wrong, but I won't say I regret it because I don't."

He's got a point and Sergio knows it. Iker does get more flack, almost more than any of them, except maybe Toni. But it's for different reasons, bad reasons, and Sergio knows that it's hard on Iker, that's one of the reasons Sergio constantly wants to wrap his arms around Iker and whisk him off somewhere remote and warm where he can keep him safe from the rest of the world.

"But — but why not just get a girlfriend?" Sergio wonders. "A real one?"

Iker snorts, bitter and self-deprecating. "I don't want a girlfriend, Sergio."

Okay. Sergio's head is whirling, his ears are ringing. He's trying to piece it all together in his mind.

So Iker and Sara aren't engaged. They're not together. It was all for show, which explains a lot, actually, so much that Sergio kicks himself for not realizing it. The kissing only when people were around, the way she barely touched him once they were alone. The way she talked to him, more like he was her best guy friend, less like he was her soon-to-be husband.

It leaves a lot of questions still, though. "Why didn't you ever tell me?" He tries not to sound wounded, but he is. He thought he and Iker shared everything, their most important secrets. He thought Iker trusted him enough that he'd tell Sergio something like this. Apparently he doesn't.

"Because I figured—" Iker cuts off, falling back against the bunk, legs hanging off. He stares up at the top of it, hands folded on his stomach. "Because I figured you wouldn't realize how I felt about you if you thought I was in love with someone else."

"What do you mean by that?" he whispers. "How — how do you feel, exactly?"

Iker finally does look at him, with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. "I've got the first letter of your name tattooed on the inside of my thigh, Sergio. Put the pieces together."

He can. He has. They've been together since the moment he saw the penned in letter there. But he doesn't want to get his hopes up, doesn't want to find out he was wrong, jumping to conclusions, interpreting things that weren't meant to be interpreted that way. "I need to hear you say it," he says. "I need to hear you say it out loud, Iker."

Iker closes his eyes. "You know when something really good happens to you, and you just want to share it with everyone? I don't. I just want to share it with you. You drive me crazy all the time, Sergio, but in the best way. Like — when you smile sometimes, and I know it's not meant for anyone else, it's mine. It's my smile. And when you laugh at something I've said even if it's isn't funny, I just want to kiss you. And you always listen to everything I say, even when it's stupid or irrelevant you act like it's the most important thing in the world." He sucks in a breath. "I've been in love with you for so long that I can't even remember what it's like to not — to not be in love with you. I can't remember what it's like to not want to call you in the middle of the night when I can't breathe because everything feels like it's too much. I don't remember how to find something funny and not look to you to make sure you find it funny, too. I couldn’t imagine going on the field without kissing your cheek for good luck. I can’t imagine rooming with someone else and the last few days, when we didn’t sleep in the same bed were horrible for me. Sergio I just can’t imagine my life without you. You belong with me.”

Iker is looking up at him again, with wide, sad eyes. "I tried not to, I swear I did, but I couldn't help it. If I could have, I would have, because not being in love with you would be so much easier, Sergio. Loving you the way I'm supposed to, like a best friend and not someone I want to spend the rest of my life waking up to, falling asleep to, would be so much fucking easier." He looks away again. "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" Sergio demands. He feels like crying. "Why are you sorry?"

"Because I want something I shouldn't," Iker explains. "Because I try so hard for what we have to be enough, but it's not. I always want more than — more than this, you know? But I can't, and I shouldn't."

Sergio bites his tongue until tears sting at his eyes. "Iker," he says. "Can you just — can you look at me for a second?"

Iker throws an arm over his face. "I really don't want to. I just fucking bared my heart to you, Sergio. Fuck. Can you just leave and let me wallow in embarrassment and self-pity for a few hours? Or days, even."

"I can't," Sergio says. "I'm too mad at you. God, I want to strangle you right now, you have no idea."

Iker moves his arm, frowning up at him. "You're mad?"

"Furious," Sergio corrects. "I'm fucking pissed, Iker."

Iker grimaces, licking at his lips as he always does. "I guess I deserve that."

"Yeah, you do," Sergio snaps. "I can't believe you didn't just — you didn't just tell me. I can't believe you pretended to be engaged to someone else without telling me! And I really can't believe that we've both been this stupid."

"You're not stupid," Iker says quietly. "Just me."

Sergio shakes his head, leaning down over Iker, propped up on both his arms. "I was the one who's been insanely jealous for the last few months," Sergio argues. "I'm the one who's been throwing a hissy fit because his best friend got engaged to someone else."

"You've been jealous?" Iker asks, hesitant and almost timid. "Why would you be jealous?"

"Because I want it to be me," Sergio answers. "Because I want people to ask you about me in interviews, not her. Because I want to be the one you get down on your knee for. Because I want to be the one that gets to keep you for the rest of my life, only mine, as selfish and horrible as that is. Because I've been so freaking in love with you for so long that it killed me to imagine that someone else was going to get the only person I've ever desperately needed."

"You need me?"

"More than anything," Sergio admits. "So much it makes me sick, sometimes."

"If you're fucking with me," Iker warns.

"I'm not," Sergio promises. "I swear I'm not."

"But… but that means…" Iker trails off, making an aborted hand gesture.

"It means we're both idiots," Sergio confirms. He grins, in spite of it all. "It means that we've both been pretending that we weren't in love with each other because we were both too stupid to realize that we felt the same way."

Iker groans. "You've got to be kidding me."

Sergio shakes his head. "Nope."

Iker reaches up, tracing Sergio's lips with the tips of his fingers. "It's a hell of a lot easier to accept that we switched bodies than it is to believe that you're in love with me," he admits. "Can you just — could you say it, one more time?"

"I love you," Sergio says easily. "I'm in love with you."

Iker fists a hand in the front of his shirt, pulling him down. "Once more."

"Love you," Sergio mumbles, almost against Iker's lips. "I love you."

"Yeah." Iker grins. "I love you, too."

He kisses Sergio then, gentle and hesitant, and Sergio kisses him back, so grateful that it's Iker's lips against his own, that it's Iker kissing him, in his own body. That it's Iker's ribs he ghosts over with his fingertips; that it's Iker stomach he scratches his nails against, and Iker's hips that he grinds his own into. That it's Iker's moan that has him pulling back, just to make sure it's real, he's real, this is real.

"Again?" Iker prompts.

Sergio laughs and kisses him, pressing whispering 'I love you's to every inch of Iker's skin he can get his lips on.

They only let go of each other when the door burst open again. Cristiano was standing in the doorframe with his phone in his hand, first taking a picture of the two lovebirds and then holding his phone to his ear.

“Yes, they finally sorted their shit out and are making out right now,” he said to whoever he was speaking on the phone to.

Then he walked out of the room again.

Sergio and Iker glanced at each other bemusedly, and then Iker grinned and pulled Sergio back in for another kiss.

*

It was nearly a year later now, Real Madrid was once again standing in the Champions League Finale. The game was nearly over, sweat glistening on the foreheads of both teams players.

Five minutes to go. Five endless minutes and it was still tied.

Sergio was about to give up and just accept the fact that there was going to be an extra time.

“Ramos,” Iker called him.

Sergio turned around questioningly.

“Score a goal for me would you?” Iker asked while blowing him a kiss and concentrating on the game again.

This was the motivation Sergio needed. He sprinted for the ball, dribbled and passed to Cristiano, who then passed back and Sergio scored the winning goal of the Finale.

He ran back to Iker while the referee was blowing the whistle, and as soon as he arrive he jumped into the arms of his loved one.

They came out to the fans soon after they got together so hugging and kissing each other in public wouldn’t be a problem.

“I love you capitán,”, mumbled Sergio before kissing Iker.

Iker kissed him right back.

Around them they heard the whole Bernabéu cheering, they heard their Squad cheering, but it just didn’t matter to them, because the were in each others arms.

*

They decided not to shower in the stadium but to shower at home, together (*winks*) and then later join their team to celebrate their win.

When they got home Sergio went straight to the shower, undressing himself and leaving a trail of dirty clothes behind.

He could feel Iker following him.

In the shower Sergio glances down as he lets the warm water glide over him. It flattens his hair, obscures his vision, but he can still see it, faint and small but clearly there, just on the inside of his thigh.

It'd hurt like a bitch, in such a sensitive spot, and it was definitely the most awkward experience he'd ever had at a tattoo shop, especially with Cristiano right there, laughing the whole time the bulky, heavily tattooed man had spent between his legs. But he doesn't regret it for a single second.

He hears the bathroom door crack but he doesn't even blink, knowing that it’d be his boyfriend.

Iker steps into the shower and slungs his arms around Sergio, kissing his neck.

Sergio turns around, wrapping his arms around Iker's waist, so he's under the spray of water as well. Iker makes an upset sound, trying to blow the water out of his mouth as Sergio pinches his sides, gliding his hands down Iker's slick skin.

He then leans in for a kiss and Iker responds immediately.

But then he pulls back, eyes moving down Sergio's body. He frowns, hand moving down to Sergio's thigh. It brushes lightly over the tattoo, tracing the small 'I' with his nail. "Sergio," he says, husky and quiet. "When did you get that?"

"Few days ago," Sergio admits, which is why it's healed enough for Iker to touch it without irritating it. "When you and the other goalkeepers went to that special practice camp. Do you like it?" Sergio asks.

Iker kisses him hard, his hair dripping onto Sergio's forehead. Sergio kisses him back, scratching lightly at his skin, no desperation in it, just warmth and a simmering happiness that has his toes curling and his lips tilting up against Iker's.

He wonders, all the time, how long the honeymoon period lasts. It's been months since Iker called off his engagement with Sara. It's been exactly eight weeks since they announced their relationship to the world. And it doesn't ever lessen. It hasn't gone away. Iker still makes his stomach twist and his skin feel like it's on fire. He still makes Sergio smile like he's the greatest thing in the world, because he sort of is, to Sergio at least.

And he doesn't want that to end, nor does he think it ever will, at this point.

"I love you," he says.

Iker grins at him. "One more time?"

And Sergio kisses him.

He kisses him to make up for all the ‘I love you’s he didn’t say because he was an idiot and didn’t realize that they loved each other.

And then he kisses him again.

And again.

 


End file.
